My Thought Was on a Maid So Bright

As I lay upon a night
I lokede upon a stronde;
I beheld a maiden bright—
A child she hadde in honde.

Hire loking was so lovely,
Hire semblant was so swete,
Of all my sorwe, sikerly,
She mighte my bales bete.

I wondrede of that swete wight,
And to myself I saide:
“She hadde don mankinde unright
But if she were a maide.”

Be hire sat a sergant,
That sadly seide his sawe;
He sempte be his semblant
A man of the elde lawe.

His her was hor on hevede,
His ble began to glide;
He herde well what I seide
And bad me faire abide.

“Thu wondrest,” he seide, “skilfuly,
On thing thu hast beholde;
And I dede so, treuly,
Til tales weren me tolde.

How a womman shulde ben than
Moder and maiden thore;
And withouten wem of man
The child shulde ben bore.

Althou I unworthy be
She is Marye, my wif;
God wot she hadde nevere child be me—
I love hire as my lif.

But or evere wiste I
Hire wombe began to rise;
I telle the treuthe, treuly,
I ne wot nevere in what wise.

I troste to hire goodnesse,
She wolde nothing misdo;
I wot et well, iwisse,
For I have founden et so,

That rathere a maiden shulde
Withouten man conceive,
Than Marye misdon wolde
And so Joseph deceive.

The child that lith so porely
In cloutes all bewent
And bounden so misesly—
From hevene he is isent.

His fader is king of hevene
(And so seide Gabriel),
To wham that child is evene,
O Emanuel.”

But this child that I saw than,
And as Joseph seide,
I wot the child is God and man,
And his moder, maide.

I thanked him of his lore
With all min herte might,
That this sight I saw thore
As I lay on a night.

This child, thanne, worchipe we
Bothe day and night,
That we moun his face see
In joye that is so light.
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