Poem by Thomas Hardy

The Riddle

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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3. V.R. 1819–1901
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5. Song to an Old Burden

Alexander Brome The Riddle ("NO more, no more")

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