The Riddle
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I 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. II 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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Credits
- Writers
- Thomas Hardy