I love a thunderstorm in early May,
When the spring, the first thunder,
as if frolicking and playing,
Rumbles in the blue sky.
Young thunders are thundering,
Here is the rain splashed, the dust is flying,
Rain pearls are hanging,
And the sun is gilding the thread.
A swift stream runs from the mountain,
In the forest the bird noise will not be silent,
And the forest noise and the mountain noise -
Everything echoes merrily to thunder.
You will say "windy, Oh! glory,"
Windy, Feeding mighty Zeus,
Laughing, spilled a boiling cup from the sky on the ground.
