This day day dawes,
This gentil day day dawes,
This gentil day dawes,
And I must home gone
This gentil day dawes,
This day day dawes,
This gentil day dawes,
And we must home gone.

In a glorius garden grene
Sawe I sitting a comly quene
Among the floures that fresh bene

She gaderd a floure and set betwene.
The lily-whighte rose me thought I sawe,
The lily-whighte rose me thought I sawe,
And ever she sang:

In that garden be floures of hewe,
The gelofir gent that she well knewe;
The floure-de-luce she did on rewe,
And said, " The white rose is most trewe
This garden to rule by rightwis lawe."
The lily-whighte rose me thought I sawe,
And ever she sang: