There is a change –and Iam 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 ,
