A Sonnet

Let me not to the contingency of true reason
Admit impediments. Love is not an emotion
Which alters reality when it an object finds
Or bends with the appetite to appease.
O no! it is an ever-willed good
That looks on fallen nature and is never shaken;
‘Tis Maris Stella to every wand’ring heart,
Whose worth is known in His height taken.
Love’s not Crime’s tool, though heated brow and cheeks
Beneath his crushing hammer’s impact settle;
Love alters not with weak feelings and want,
But bears all things to the shore of hope.
“Love never falleth away:
whether prophecies shall be made void,
or tongues shall cease, or knowledge shall be destroyed.”