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117

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 heedOf its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count!Bless'd was I then all bliss above!Now, for this consecrated FountOf murmuring, sparkling, living love,What have I shall I dare to tell?A comfortless, and hidden well.
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