A Complaint By William Wordsworth

There is a change- and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart’s door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.

What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount of murmuring,
Sparkling, living love,
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.

A well of love- it may be deep-
I trust it is- and never dry:
What matter? If the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity
Such change, and at the very door of my fond heart,
Hath made me poor.

Bounty : kindness
Murmuring : grumbling
Sparkling : glittering