March Slayer of the winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain, Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's song, Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!
Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June, Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, Striving to swell the burden of the tune That even now I hear thy brown birds raise, Unmindful of the past or coming days; Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun: What happiness to look upon the sun!'
Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss But death himself, who crying solemnly, E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness, Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die, Within a little time must ye go by. Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."