Analysis of Sonnet 16Sonnet 16 is a delightful poem. He presents an argument that seems abstract or philosophical, not at all personal, not “self-serving” in the narrow sense of the term. And the impediment, which is generally required in a sonnet, is named by the poet only so that he can specifically refuse it. What should we think of the contradiction? Do not allow the marriage of true minds to admit of obstacles. Love is not the love that changes when it alters, or that bends with the solvent to remove it. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark that watches the storms and is never shaken; it is the star of each magic wand shell, the value of which is unknown. , although its size is taken. Love is not a fool of time, even if rosy lips and cheeks come in the compass of its bent sickle. Love does not change with its brief hours and weeks, but carries it to the brink of misfortune. If this is an error and it has been proven to me: I have never written, nor has any man ever loved. “Don’t leave me”: the poem begins in the imperative mood. Its action is semantic – it aims to delimit the admissible parameters of love – and its objective seems to be tightness. I will not admit, affirms the poet, that love has obstacles. If it wavers, it's not love. The love I have in mind is a beacon (a marine landmark or navigation guide for sailors); it's a north star. Like this star, it surpasses all narrow understanding (its “value is unknown”); its height alone (browser calculation basis) is enough to guide us. The ideal of the poem is unshakable faith, and it claims to realize its own ideal. Strange then, isn't it, how many arguments proceed by negation: "don't let me do it", "love is not", "oh no", and so on. Perhaps the poet is less sure of himself than he appears. What causes confidence to waver? The poem was written to refute certain concepts (alteration, deletion) which it relegates to the realm of abstraction. But in the third quatrain, the abstraction begins to collapse. Time, it seems, has something to do with change and the threat of erasure. The poet retorts: time is insignificant compared to love. Time may alter beauty, but love will not flinch. Time can be measured in short hours and weeks; the only proper measure of love begins where time stops ("the edge of doom").