A Complaint
William Wordsworth
1770 to 1850
Track 1
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—Such change, and at the very door
Now, for that consecrated fount
And flow it did; not taking heed
In silence and obscurity.
Blest was I then all bliss above!
What matter? if the waters sleep
A well of love—it may be deep—
Of its own bounty, or my need.
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.
I trust it is,—and never dry:
There is a change—and I am poor;
Whose only business was to flow;
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
What happy moments did I count!
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