How often she has gazed from castle windows all

And watched the daylight passing within her captive wall

With no one to heed her call



The evening hour is fading within the dwindling sun

And in a lonely moment, those embers will be gone

And the last of all the young birds flown



Her days of precious freedom, forfeited long before

To live such fruitless years behind the guarded door

But those days will last no more

Tomorrow, at this hour, she will be far away

Much farther than these islands, for the lonely Fotheringay