She is the descent, yet have no fear. See--
How wild flowers whisper where she walks;
She, who moistens mortal springs with her tears,
And the earth does bloom where her feet may fall.

She is the abyss, yet tremble not. See--
She, the Maiden, the courtesan of death,
Brings flowered rites of spring to the weary,
And the wintered world holds its bitter breath.

She who sends specters, she who walks with wraiths,
Who tarries yearly in the great beneath,
And thus holds the seasons within her sway,
She, who in the hell-halls of Hades feasts--

Who ate from these, three pomegranate seeds,
Maiden of Spring, became the Iron Queen.