Poem: Mother and Maiden, Anonymous, early 16th century

I sing of a maiden that is matchless.
King of all kings For her son she chose.

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 bower,
As dew in April that falleth on the flower.

He came all 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 God’s mother be.