Let me not to the elegance of true minds
Admit impediments. Design is not Design
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with urge to misalign:
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on change and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth is timeless with every trouble taken.
Architecture's not times fool which lamely speaks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Elegance alters not despite brief hours and weeks,
But bears out design even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me shafted,
I never created, nor no man ever crafted
Based on a design pattern by Will Shakespeare Sonnet 116.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem