A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

For, from the carcase of one of the animals offered for sacrifice, and
whose clean white bones now gleamed in the rays of the sun that forced
its way through the thick shade of the grove of grey olives, there came
the "murmuring of innumerable bees."
"Out of the eater came forth meat, out of the strong came forth
sweetness."
And Aristæus, a Samson of the old Greek days, rejoiced exceedingly,
knowing that his thoughtless sin was pardoned, and that for evermore
to him belonged the pride of giving to all men the power of taming bees,
the glory of mastering the little brown creatures that pillage from the
fragrant, bright-hued flowers their most precious treasure.
PROSERPINE
"Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom,
Gods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and
blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child,
Proserpine.
If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish those young flowers
Till they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the hours, Breathe
thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine."
Shelley.
The story of Persephone--of Proserpine--is a story of spring. When the
sun is warming the bare brown earth, and the pale primroses look up
through the snowy blackthorns at a kind, blue sky, almost can we hear
the soft wind murmur a name as it gently sways the daffodils and
breathes through the honey sweetness of the gold-powdered catkins on
the grey willows by the river--"Persephone! Persephone!"
Now once there was a time when there was no spring, neither summer
nor autumn, nor chilly winter with its black frosts and cruel gales and
brief, dark days. Always was there sunshine and warmth, ever were