Soon after I had begun to read some lines of our horoscope, I found this poem in Wordsworth, which seemed to link into meaning many sounds that were vibrating round me.
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 this 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.
This, at the time, seemed unanswerable; yet, afterwards I found among the writings of Coleridge what may serve as a sufficient answer.
| A SOLILOQUY. |
| Unchanged within to see all changed without |
| Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. |
| Yet why at other’s wanings shouldst thou fret? |
| Then only might’st thou feel a just regret, |
| Hadst thou withheld thy love, or hid thy light |
| In selfish forethought of neglect and slight, |
| O wiselier, then, from feeble yearnings freed, |
| While, and on whom, thou mayst, shine on! nor heed |
| Whether the object by reflected light |
| Return thy radiance or absorb it quite; |
