I hasten quickly across the moors, with my skirts whipping in the breeze.
My chest aches in wretched heartbreak, as no one calls out for me.

The ground is wet beneath my feet, my stockings ruined with mud.
While I wander the wilds alone, where no other’s lady’s feet have trod.

His smile had once entranced me, as I watched from across the room.
His eyes met mine and I was frozen, my young heart with love was consumed.

Stolen kisses in the garden maze, secret gentle touches behind the door.
His behavior gave me every reason, to think that with me he wanted more.

I have never felt more stupid, my heart has never felt more raw.
Than when I saw him pressing her, passionately against the ballroom wall.

He saw me in that moment, surprise and pity written on his face.
The pity in his eyes hurt the most, why I ran from the party in disgrace.

I thought he would declare himself, make his intentions known quite soon.
He’d take me to wive and I’d wear his ring, underneath the summer’s moon.

I should have known it wouldn’t happen, an heiress he was looking to find.
My family is poor but I loved him, I thought to my lack of dowry he was blind.

My skirts are sodden in the rain, they weigh me down where I can’t flee.
The cold droplets penetrate my dress, as I sink down with my back against a tree.

The air was cold and foggy in the night, as the freezing rain continued to pound.
No one knew I was gone from the party, it would be hours before I am found.

In my heart I knew that I would parish, on the moors of the castle beside the sea.
When they come with torches looking, my tortured soul will be drifting free.

As the early morning hours pass, they find me pale and frozen upon the ground.
The dirt is shoveled upon my body, and I endure my mother’s crying sounds.

He will forever hear my whispers, he will hear my breathless voice behind closed doors.
While my body lays at rest outside the church, my spirit will forever walk the moors.

~Lella M Fulton

©2024 Copyright

I am always inspired by the raw emotion of love and loss against a gothic backdrop of 19th-century moors. This tragic poem captures the ache of a young woman’s heartbreak, her hopes shattered by betrayal as she flees across the frozen grounds. I imagined her sodden skirts, the freezing rain, and her aching soul running through the wilds. I wanted to weave themes of love, betrayal, and longing into a timeless narrative.

This poem resonates with anyone who has felt the sting of unreturned devotion or that loves a gothic tale.

My grandmother gave me a book when I was 12 about a Tuscany Madonna. It was about a gothic painting. The cover of that book inspired this poem.