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I love a thunder-storm in May
When here the first spring’s early thunder,
As though a joyful part of play,
Roars in the blue sky in its grandeur.
Being strong and young, it’s thundering,
Look, rain has started, dust is flying,
The rainy pearls have hung as strings,
The sun is gilding threads by smiling.
A stream runs quickly down the hill,
The birds of wood don’t cease songs’ wonders,
And whistle from wood and sound of rill
Both gaily echo to the thunders...
It’s carefree Hebe, you may say,
When feeding Zeus’s noble eagle,
Below her on the earth’s huge tray
Has spilled a cup, it makes her giggle.
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