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LASH LASHI 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,.
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