She grows with greenest leaves, Ripens with reddest sheaves, Forgets, remembers, grieves, And is not sad; The quiet lands and skies Leave light upon her eyes; None knows her, weak or wise, Or tired or glad. None knows, none understands, What flowers are like her hands; Though you should search all lands Wherein time grows, What snows are like her feet, Though his eyes burn with heat Through gazing on my sweet, Yet no man knows. Only this thing is said; That white and gold and red, God's three chief words, man's bread And oil and wine, Were given her for dowers, And kingdom of all hours, And grace of goodly flowers And various vine. This is my lady's praise: God after many days Wrought her in unknown ways, In sunset lands; This was my lady's birth; God gave her might and mirth And laid his whole sweet earth Between her hands. Under deep apple-boughs My lady hath her house; She wears upon her brows The flower thereof; All saying but what God saith To her is as vain breath; She is more strong than death, Being strong as love. THE KING'S DAUGHTER We were ten maidens in the green corn, Small red leaves in the mill-water: Fairer maidens never were born, Apples of gold for the king's daughter. We were ten maidens by a well-head, Small white birds in the mill-water: Sweeter maidens never were wed, Rings of red for the king's daughter. The first to spin, the second to sing, Seeds of wheat in the mill-water; The third may was a goodly thing, White bread and brown for the king's daughter. The fourth to sew and the fifth to play, Fair green weed in the mill-water; The sixth may was a goodly may, White wine and red for the king's daughter. The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed, Fair thin reeds in the mill-water; The ninth had gold work on her head, Honey in the comb for the king's daughter. The ninth had gold work round her hair, Fallen flowers in the mill-water; The tenth may was goodly and fair, Golden gloves for the king's daughter. We were ten maidens in a field green, Fallen fruit in the mill-water; Fairer maidens never have been, Golden sleeves for the king's daughter. By there comes the king's young son, A little wind in the mill-water; "Out of ten maidens ye'll grant me one," A crown of red for the king's daughter. "Out of ten mays ye'll give me the best," A little rain in the mill-water; A bed of yellow straw for all the rest, A bed of gold for the king's daughter. He's ta'en out the goodliest, Rain that rains in the mill-water; A comb of yellow shell for all the rest, A comb of gold for the king's daughter. He's made her bed to the goodliest, Wind and hail in the mill-water; A grass girdle for all the rest, A girdle of arms for the king's daughter.