How often she has gazed from castle windows allAnd watched the
daylight passing within her captive wallWith no one to heed her
callThe evening hour is fading within the dwindling sunAnd in a
lonely moment, those embers will be goneAnd the last of all the
young birds flownHer days of precious freedom, forfeited long
beforeTo live such fruitless years behind a guarded doorBut
those days will last no moreTomorrow, at this hour, she will be
far awayMuch farther than these islands, for the lonely
Fotheringay
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