Oh, our beloved Proserpine is gone!
The sad brown leaves dare to dangle there
upon the limbs of trees bare as the bone
awaiting death that comes with Autumn's air.
The underworld again holds solemn sway
upon the earth. A melancholy time
restrains the joy and light of ev'ry day.
We see this is a season most unkind.
Old Hades holds the earth in bondage cold.
Fair Ceres mourns and all the flowers fall.
But she has raised a cry both meek and bold
for Proserpine's return unto us all.
Soon sadness will give way to rising cheer
As new hope springs upon the coming year.
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