SONNET 116
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.
Amor verdadero
No, no aparta a dos almas amadoras
adverso caso ni cruel porfía:
nunca mengua el amor ni se desvía,
y es uno y sin mudanza a todas horas.
Es fanal que borrascas bramadoras
con inmóviles rayos desafía;
estrella fija que los barcos guía;
mides su altura, mas su esencia ignoras.
Amor no sigue la fugaz corriente
de la edad, que deshace los colores
de los floridos labios y mejillas.
Eres eterno, Amor: si esto desmiente
mi vida, no he sentido tus ardores,
ni supe comprender tus maravillas.
SONNET 116 | PARAPHRASE |
Let me not to the marriage of true minds | Let me not declare any reasons why two |
Admit impediments. Love is not love | True-minded people should not be married. Love is not love |
Which alters when it alteration finds, | Which changes when it finds a change in circumstances, |
Or bends with the remover to remove: | Or bends from its firm stand even when a lover is unfaithful: |
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark | Oh no! it is a lighthouse |
That looks on tempests and is never shaken; | That sees storms but it never shaken; |
It is the star to every wandering bark, | Love is the guiding north star to every lost ship, |
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. | Whose value cannot be calculated, although its altitude can be measured. |
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks | Love is not at the mercy of Time, though physical beauty |
Within his bending sickle's compass come: | Comes within the compass of his sickle. |
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, | Love does not alter with hours and weeks, |
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. | But, rather, it endures until the last day of life. |
If this be error and upon me proved, | If I am proved wrong about these thoughts on love |
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. música: | Then I recant all that I have written, and no man has ever [truly] loved. El Dia Que Me Quieras Raphael |
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