Mariana In The North

All her youth is gone, her beautiful youth outworn,

Daughter of tarn and tor, the moors that were once her

No longer know her step on the upland tracks forlorn            Where she was wont to roam.

All her hounds are dead, her beautiful hounds are dead,

That paced beside the hoofs of her high and nimble horse,

Or streaked in lean pursuit of the tawny hare that fled            Out of the yellow gorse.

All her lovers have passed, her beautiful lovers have passed,

The young and eager men that fought for her arrogant hand,

And the only voice which endures to mourn for her at the last            Is the voice of the lonely land.