There is a change--and I am poor; <br />Your love hath been, nor long ago, <br />A fountain at my fond heart's door, <br />Whose only business was to flow; <br />And flow it did; not taking heed <br />Of its own bounty, or my need. <br /> <br />What happy moments did I count! <br />Blest was I then all bliss above! <br />Now, for that consecrated fount <br />Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, <br />What have I? Shall I dare to tell? <br />A comfortless and hidden well. <br /> <br />A well of love--it may be deep-- <br />I trust it is,--and never dry: <br />What matter? If the waters sleep <br />In silence and obscurity. <br />--Such change, and at the very door <br />Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-complaint/
