I love a stormy May’s beginning
When the first thunderclaps of spring,
As though all for the careless meaning,
Roar in the space of sky blue ring.
Young claps of thunder are increasing,
Then rain has sprinkled, shaking dust,
Bright pearly looking drops are drizzling,
The sun is gilding squirts of gust.
A stream is running downhill, twisting,
Undying, birds’ chirp rings in the wood,
These uphill rumpus and birds’ whistling -
Both gaily echo thunders’ mood...
You’ll say, it’s Hebe, windy-headed,
When fed the eagle of Zeus, has spilt
From heaven to earth her cup, embedded
With thunderstorms, and laughed her lilt.