I sing of a Maiden

  That is makeless;
King of all kingës
  To her son she ches;
He came also 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.