I sing of a maiden

I sing of a maiden

That is makeless;

King of all kings

To her son she ches.

He came all so still

There his mother was,

Like dew in April

That falleth on the grass.

He came all so still

To his mother's bower,

Like dew in April

That falleth on the grass.

He came all so still

There his mother lay,

Like dew in April

That falleth on the spray.

Mother and maiden

Was never none but she;

Well may such a lady

Godës mother be.