She was wasting away with yearning for her daughter with the low-slung girdle. She made that year the most terrible one for mortals, all over the Earth, the nurturer of many. It was so terrible, it makes you think of the Hound of Hadês. The Earth did not send up any seed. Demeter, she with the beautiful garlands in her hair, kept them covered underground. Many a curved plough was dragged along the fields by many an ox—all in vain. Many a bright grain of wheat fell into the earth—all for naught. At this moment, she could have destroyed the entire race of meropes humans with harsh hunger, thus depriving of their tîmê the dwellers of the Olympian abodes sacrificial portions of meat for eating or for burning, if Zeus had not noticed with his noos, taking note in his thûmos.

(Hymn to Demeter, 305-314)