"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved"
We search for hidden delights in Anne Hathaway's garden. A day spent walking in the midst of verdant greens and shady groves. There are trees that talk and tell of sonnets and shed leaves with poetry scribbled across. And the heart rests in the company of a heathen god....
..and lavender patches that infuse the senses with diffused scents. We move at constant slow pace across this patch, taking in what nature has to offer and pause and rest and then reluctantly move on.
There is a train waiting some miles away to take us back.
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved"
There is a train waiting some miles away to take us back.
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