A Complaint

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.

by William Wordsworth

Comments (10)

nice poem I like this poem very good
spontaneous overflow
Though the love still exists it has surely lost the sparkle that it previously had when it sprang at the heart's door. Excellent.
I love how he compares love as a fountain...then as a well...nice write...
nice poem.i like this poem very much.
See More