Columbina is the first,
The gentle Dove reborn from death,
And all the earth is wakened by
Her newly-quickened breath.
Maia is the second,
The year grows quickly from its birth
And our dear Lady wears the crown
Of Heaven and of earth.
Next follows noble Hera,
Bringer of warmth and joy and light.
The fields are filled with flowers
And all the world is bright.
Then glorious Rosea,
First daughter of the Summer sun,
The season of the Fiery Rose
In Whom all life is one.
Sweet prime of all the laughing year!
Your languid days and fragrant nights
Have always welcome here.
In Hesperis, the golden month,
The lingering end of Summer’s reign,
Sweet scents climb up through shimmering heat
Among the ripening grain.
The rich abundance of the earth
Bursts forth in Mala’s fruitfulness –
The bountaeous gifts of Life Divine
To nourish and to bless.
Brisk and crisp and smoky-scented
Are russet Hathor’s misty days;
A time of nuts and cyder-brew
And breath a chill white haze.
Samhain begins with blazing fires
For sister souls who have gone forth
And ends as icy Winter leaves
Her palace in the North.
Astraea brings the frost and snow
And also brings a Star –
Sign of our Lady’s love, to show
Her coming is not far.
In Hestia, the darkest month,
A tiny light is born –
Our Lady in Her Mother’s arms
Shines forth on the grey dawn.
In Brighde, Winter’s last chill month,
A thousand candles light the sky
Our Lady, robed in purest white,
Prepares Herself to die.
Moura is not of Winter,
Of Summer, Autumn, or of Spring,
She is a season of her own
Apart from everything.
The closing year is hushed and still,
The Dove is slain that we may live,
The dearest gift that we can take,
Or anyone can give.