Shelley, author of ode to the west wind, England.
The first part.
Oh, the wild west wind, the breath of autumn life.
You are invisible, but the dead leaves are swept away by you.
Like the singing of an elf flying away from a mage.
Yellow, black, gray and red are like tuberculosis.
People infected with the plague have fallen leaves and scattered all over the floor: Oh, it's you.
Drive the wing seeds.
In the dark winter bed, they lay there.
Like a dead hole in the grave, cold, hidden and humble.
Until spring, your blue sister came to the sleeping earth.
Blow her big horn.
I like herding sheep and driving sweet buds into the air for food and water.
Let the mountains and plains be full of color and fragrance.
Wild soul, you travel everywhere.
Destroyer and Protector: Listen, you listen!
Section 2.
Above your stream, there is a huge stream in the sky.
Clouds are like dead leaves on the earth.
It was blown down from the branches of the sky and the sea by the west wind.
Be the messenger of rain and electricity: they will fall.
On the surface of your misty blue waves
Like a crazy girl's fluttering hair flashing.
From the distant and blurred edge of the sky.
Straight to the sky, swaying everywhere.
Curly hair wants a thunderstorm, for the coming year.
You sang Corona Herr, and this dense night.
Will be the dome of its huge tomb.
This is the condensation of your strength.
That's your breath, and it will explode from it.
Black Rain, Hail and Flame: Oh, listen!