William Wordsworth

(1770-1850 / Cumberland / England)

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.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Veteran Poet - 2,622 Points Rajesh Thankappan (12/25/2014 12:13:00 AM)

    Though the love still exists it has surely lost the sparkle that it previously had when it sprang at the heart's door. Excellent. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Stevie Taite (4/13/2013 2:08:00 PM)

    Love hinted at and hopefully received, enriching his senses. Then blowing cold. He is still hopeful but mixed with doubt and deep feeling of heartache and loss. No longer feeling the richness of the tingling a of shining new love. Thus feeling poor. Heartache and longing. (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Manuj K. Das (2/10/2012 8:11:00 PM)

    I love this poem. It is becoz most of the meanings of this poem are similar with my situation. Realistic William, classic output. (Report) Reply

Read all 8 comments »

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