I sing of a maiden that is makeles: King of all kings, to her son she ches. He came also stille there is moder was, as dew in Aprille that falleth on the grass. He came also still to his moder’s bour, as dew in Aprille that falleth on the flour. He came also still there his moder lay, as dew in April that falleth on the spray. Moder and maiden was never none but she. Well may such a lady Goddes moder be.