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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
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Read poems about / on: change, trust, silence, happy, sleep, heart, love, water
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by
William Wordsworth
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William Wordsworth
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p.a. noushad
(6/13/2008 8:13:00 AM) |
i feel we can consider him a champion of nature, colourful nerration.
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William Wordsworth
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