[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Suggested by a change in the manner of a friend.--I. F.] Classed among the "Poems founded on the Affections."--ED. 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 5 Of its own bounty, or my need. What happy moments did I count! Blest was I then all bliss above! Now, for that[1] consecrated fount Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, 10 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 15 In silence and obscurity. --Such change, and at the very door Of my fond heart, hath made me poor. It is highly probable that the friend was S. T. Coleridge. See the _Life of Wordsworth_ (1889), vol. ii. pp. 166, 167.--ED. VARIANTS: [1] 1836. ... this ... 1807. STRAY PLEASURES Composed 1806.--Published 1807 [Suggested on the Thames by the sight of one of those floating mills that used to be seen there. This I noticed on the Surrey side between Somerset House and Blackfriars' Bridge. Charles Lamb was with me at the time; and I thought it remarkable that I should have to point out to _him_, an idolatrous Londoner, a sight so interesting as the happy group dancing on the platform. Mills of this kind used to be, and perhaps still are, not uncommon on the continent. I noticed several upon the river Saone in the year 1799, particularly near the town of Chalons, where my friend Jones and I halted a day when we crossed France; so far on foot; there we embarked, and floated down to Lyons.--I. F.] "----_Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find._" One of the "Poems of the Fancy." The title _Stray Pleasures_ was first given in the edition of 1820. In 1807 and 1815 the poem had no title; but in the original MS. it was called "Dancers."--ED. By their floating mill, That[1] lies dead and still, Behold yon Prisoners three, The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames! The platform is small, but gives room[2] for them all; 5 And they're dancing merrily. From the shore come the notes To their mill where it floats, To their house and their mill tethered fast: To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile, 10 They from morning to even take whatever is given;-- And many a blithe day they have past.[3]