I dont know if I remember this one right, I heard it when I was little in the Borders, and think it's by Harold Boulton (but only because I think I heard it when I was choosing one of his to memorise. I chose a different poem though). I don't remember the title either, sorry. It might be anonymous but collected by Boulton, he did that a lot. Probably a variation on Dead stones or Ancestor Stones or something.
Out on the wild and windy moor,
I feel love's presence near.
I hear his whispers, wild and dour,
Where only the stones can hear.
Within the henge I hear his name.
I hear it still, as swift I flee.
"Can true love play a truant's game?
Come back, come back, to me".
There beneath the standing stone,
A love that calls me home.
"Lay aside thy flesh and bone
And rest ye in the loam".
Three times three I fled the hill.
Three times yet, returned.
Each time the whispers drew me in.
Each time I fled, a'feared.
I am the haunted woman, yet.
I roam the haunted moor.
I've lain beneath the fairy stone,
But heard the voice, no more.
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