Come back Persephone!
  As a moonflake thin,
flutes for the dancers
  you danced with begin.

Leave the deep hellebore,
  the dark, the untranquil -
for spring's pale primrose
  and her first jonquil.

Again they are singing
  (O will you not heed them?)
with none now to answer,
  and none to lead them.

They will grow older,
  till comes a day
when the last of your maidens
  is tired of play:

when the song as it rises
  faints and droops over,
and your playmates go seeking
  a gentler lover.

Listen the dancers!
  The flutes oh listen!
Hasten Persephone!
  Persephone! Hasten!