I SING of a maiden 
   That is makeles; 
King of all kings 
   To her son she ches. 

He came al so still 
   There his mother was, 
As dew in April 
   That falleth on the grass. 

He came al so still 
   To his mother's bour, 
As dew in April 
   That falleth on the flour. 

He came al 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.