I love a stormy May’s
When the first thunderclaps of spring,
As though, enjoying of its greening,
Roar in the space of sky blue ring.
Young bursts of thunder-claps are growing,
Look, rain has sprinkled, dust is fled,
The pearly strings of rain are flowing,
The sun is gilding sparkling threads.
The tunes of birds reprise asunder,
A stream is running down the hill,
Both gaily echo to the thunder:
Noise at a height and sounds of trill.
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.
the second version
I love May’s coming with
When the first storm is on the fly,
As at rehearsal, full of wonder,
It roars in the blue space of sky.
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...
It’s carefree Hebe, that’s no wonder,
When feeding fondly the Zeus’s eagle,
Let fall her boiling cup, with thunder,
Down land, and couldn’t help, but giggle.