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 a 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
