All:

Let there be joy in the cold and the dying.
The seeds of new life are borne on the winter wind.



Persephone: (to Hades)
Hades does me great offense
To play upon my innocence
Though you may call me Bride-to-be
I'll not go with you willingly

By force you take me to your lair
Do not presume to keep me there
My mother, Goddess of the grain
Will see me safely home again