That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth´s unknown, although height be taken.
Love´s not Time´s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bendings sickle´s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev´n to the edge of doom.
If this be error, upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564 - 1616)
