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 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, Or the lonely Fotheringay