Hail to you Triptolemus, Eleusis’ son
You, the wise judge of the foregone,
Sow ever in the field of earth and rain
That gift of Proerosia, the holy grain
Which, in serpentine cart, you disperse
Scattering her blessing across the earth
Into each furrow you raised, triple tiered,
That by the art of Sabazios you engineered,
So the wheat-ear may rise in golden sun
Born of unblemished grains you have won
Separated from the chaff at autumn’s door
Hail to you O Lord of the Threshing Floor.
And so you dwell in company of the seed
Chthonic prince whom Gaia had received
Threshing as you will in Persephone’s court
The precious grains from chaff you assort.
So hail to you Triptolemus, Demeter’s own
To raise a vernal maiden, golden-gowned.