She sits in her dark chamber, devoid of his perfume
The nights are still and heavy; silent as a tomb.
Memory flickers in the dim, a single candle's light.
Each tear upon her cheek it's finding; the maid who weeps by night.

Alone into the battle rode he, who offered her his life.
If untold hardships have befallen him, he'll never take his wife.
Her tears lay bitter, sad, and lonely upon his perfect prose.
And all around, her skirts fallen as petals from the rose.
Upon her sill waits ever loyal searching for his light.
A wilted flower from tower of strength; the maid who weeps by night.

Fixed in yon highest turret with just a candle's flame.
Her eyes gaze into the distance calling out his name.
The name she spoke, "Christopher"; I marked it in the air.
His reply was soft and low, "My lover, I am there."
At her breast she holds his token of their union bond, to dream of him; The errant knight of whom she is so fond.
She swears he will return to her when journey's come to end.
Praying fast to every saint their gracious hope to lend.
Her love for him outlasting the never-ending fight.
Still I see her candle, the maid who weeps by night.

She sits in her dark chamber, devoid of his perfume.
The nights are still and heavy; silent as a tomb.
Her flame will never falter. Her love will always last.
Someday she will hold him, as she has in the past.
Down her cheeks salted tears do run,
Yet her lover will return to her when his journey's done.
I can see her shadow linger in the candle's light.
Still waits she there upon her sill, the maid who weeps by night.