What did you see, Proserpina,

When you were down in the dark?

Why speak you not of that hollow realm

Where the puzzled, quiet shades

Half-dreaming drift through starlessness

And you were their captive queen,

Now when we welcome you back to earth

For as long as you may abide?

The meadows blossom beneath your feet,

The world is awash with light,

But the springtime grass has roots that reach

To trouble the bones below.

Is this why you walk among us mute,

Is this the gift of your love,

To save us from knowing what you have known,

Until you descend again?

—Salerianus,

Quaestiones, II, i, 1-16