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1840–1928

THE RIDDLE

Thomas Hardy

Stretching eyes west Over the sea, Wind foul or fair, Always stood she

Prospect-impressed; Solely out there Did her gaze rest, Never elsewhere

Seemed charm to be. Always eyes east Ponders she now - As in devotion -

Hills of blank brow Where no waves plough. Never the least Room for emotion

Drawn from the ocean Does she allow.

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THE RIDDLE · Thomas Hardy · Poetry Cove