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 where his mother was,
As dew in April that falleth on the grass.

He came all so still to his mother’s bow’r,
As dew in April that falleth on the flow’r.

He came all so still where 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 God’s mother be.