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.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Bounty : kindness
Murmuring : grumbling
Sparkling : glittering
