(Words and Music by Joan Baez)

    Sweet Sir Galahad
    came in through the window
    in the night when
    the moon was in the yard.
    He took her hand in his
    and shook the long hair
    from his neck and he told her
    she'd been working much too hard.
    It was true that ever since the day
    her crazy man had passed away
    to the land of poet's pride,
    she laughed and talked alot
    with new people on the block
    but always at evening time she cried.

    And here's to the dawn of their days.

    She moved her head
    a little down on the bed
    until it rested softly on his knee.
    And there she dropped her smile
    and there she sighed awhile,
    and told him all the sadness
    of those years that numbered three.
    Well you know I think my fate's belated
    because of all the hours I waited
    for the day when I'd no longer cry.
    I get myself to work by eight
    but oh, was I born too late,
    and do you think I'll fail
    at every single thing I try?

    And here's to the dawn of their days.

    He just put his arm around her
    and that's the way I found her
    eight months later to the day.
    The lines of a smile erased
    the tear tracks upon her face,
    a smile could linger, even stay.
    Sweet Sir Galahad went down
    with his gay bride of flowers,
    the prince of the hours
    of her lifetime.

    And here's to the dawn
    of their days,
    of their days.

    © 1968, 1970 Chandos Music (ASCAP)

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