I sing of a maiden
That is makeless;[1]
King of all kingës
To her son she ches;[2]
He came also[3] still
There his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.
He came also still
To his mother’s bower,
As dew in April
That falleth on the flower.
He came also 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.
[1] Matchless.
[2] Chose.
[3] As.