Fotheringay

How often she has gazed from castle windows o'er,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 goneAnd the last of all the young birds flown.Her days of precious freedom, forfeited long before,To live such fruitless years behind a guarded door,But those days will last no more.Tomorrow at this hour she will be far away,Much farther than these islands,Or the lonely Fotheringay