F. Tutchev The Spring Storm

                                         

I do adore spring first storms pouring At the beginning of that May - The thunders rumble all the morning, In the blue sky they gaily play. The youthful grumbles of thunders rattle, Lo, drizzles splash, the dust ascends, The pearls of rain hang, still and subtle, And then the sun would gild the strands. A torrent rushes over hill’s slant, The chirm of birds would never cease, Those forest chirm and clamor upland - Revoice the thunderclaps at ease. You ‘ll say :” ‘twas Hebe scatterbrained, While feeding Zeus’s eagle, a cup, Simmered with roars, laughing drained Unto the earth. Thus storms erupt!”