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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Complaint</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">There is a change--and I am poor;<br>Your love hath been, nor long ago,<br>A fountain at my fond heart's door,<br>Whose only business was to flow;<br>And flow it did; not taking heed<br>Of its own bounty, or my need.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What happy moments did I count!<br>Blest was I then all bliss above!<br>Now, for that consecrated fount<br>Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,<br>What have I? Shall I dare to tell?<br>A comfortless and hidden well.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A well of love--it may be deep--<br>I trust it is,--and never dry:<br>What matter? If the waters sleep<br>In silence and obscurity.<br>--Such change, and at the very door<br>Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a></strong></div>

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