I Sing of a Woman (following a 15th century lyric)

I sing of a woman
Who is matchless;
Queen of all queens
To her Love is she.

He comes all so still
Where she sits in grass;
He comes with a will
And he will not pass.

He comes all so still
As she plucks a flower,
A-lit with the spring
In the morning hour.

He comes all so still
Where his love does lay,
And his eyes are as bright
As the eye of day.

Woman entire
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lover
Live love’s liberty!

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