An old carol

I sing of a maiden

That is matchless;

King of all kings

To her son she chose.

He came all so still

There his mother was,

As dew in April

That falleth on the grass.

He came all so still

To his mother's bower,

As dew in April

That falleth on the flower.

He came all so still

There his mother lay,

As dew in April

That falleth on the spray.

Mother and maiden

Was never none but she;

Well may such a lady

Goddes mother be.