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The charade—
Across my first, with flash and roar,
The stately vessel glides alone.
And mournful on the crowded shore
There stands an aged crone,
Watching my second’s parting smile,
As he bids farewell to his native isle.
My whole comes back to other eyes,
With beauteous change of fruit and flowers,
But dim to her are those bright skies,
And sad those joyous hours;
For, alas! my first is dark and deep,
And my second cannot hear her weep.
is solved by Season.
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