THE RIDDLE

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.