I love a storm in early May When springtime's boisterous, firstborn thunder Over the sky will gaily wander And growl and roar as though in play. A peal, another - gleeful, cheering... Rain, raindust... On the trees, behold!- The drops hang, each a long pearl earring; Bright sunshine paints the thin threads gold. A stream downhill goes rushing reckless, And in the woods the birds rejoice. Din. Clamour. Noise. All nature echoes The thunder's youthful, merry voice. You'll say: 'Tis laughing, carefree Hebe - She fed her father's eagle, and The Storm Cup brimming with a seething And bubbling wine dropped from her hand.