How could the poems "Ode to the West Wind" and "Ode to a Skylark" be paraphrased?

Assuming the format of this exercise is unspecified, I will eschew the poetic verses for simplification’s sake.  For “Ode to the West Wind,” you could say something like the following.

I

Oh powerful west wind, who characterizes the autumn and before whom all the season’s dead leaves are driven fearfully away in shades of yellow, black, and red,
Who strews the seeds to their final beds, where they lay like the dead deep in the ground until the lighter winds of spring blow upon them – those spring winds that refresh the earth and fills it with the signs of life,
Listen, untamed spirit of the west wind, you who destroy and create, listen to my words!

II

Thin clouds race away on your stream, resembling the dead leaves down on Earth; the clouds, stretching vertically across half the sky, are heralds of a storm to come;
You solemn song of the coming winter, from whom a dark and violent rain will fall tonight – listen!

III

You who aroused the Mediterranean Sea from its docile summer temperament, which before lay sleepily curled around volcanic islands, leaving its picturesque, historic communities in peace,
You who split the placid Atlantic into steep waves, instilling great fear in all those who live beneath the waves, listen!

IV

If I were one of these dead leaves, or these clouds, or these waves that are driven by your power,
Even if I were still a boy, and my imagination made me your friend, I would never have prayed to you in this time of need – but life has caught up to me – take me away like your leaves, clouds, or waves!
I, who was once swift and unstoppable like you, have been trapped by the passage of time.

V

Manipulate me as you manipulate the forest; perhaps my leaves fall in autumn too.  Both of us will be battered by your melodious blowing, and left with sweet yet sorrowful feelings.  Become as one with me, you powerful wind! 
Drive away these evil thoughts like so many dead leaves, and hasten a new life in their place!
And spread these verses far and wide, like ashes and sparks blown from a fire, to serve as a message to the unknowing world – Oh wind, remember – spring must always follow winter.

For “To a Skylark:”

Hail, Skylark! You have never been a mere bird, but a spirit come from heaven to sing your spontaneous song;
You fly higher and higher into the blue sky, ever higher, singing all the while;
You fly and dive before the brightening sunrise like pure joy itself;
The purple of the sunrise pales in comparison to you, and you are as a star in the daytime – I hear you, I know you are there, though I cannot see you. You have disappeared as a star disappears, gradually with the rising dawn.
Your song fills all the world, like the full moon bathes the sky in light.
What are you?  There is nothing in the world like you; the song you sing is fuller than a rain shower, washing over everything – you are like a poet who fills the world with thoughts and feelings it had before paid no attention to.
You’re like a maiden locked in a tower singing to pass the time, like the glow of a glowworm, the creature itself unseen but its glow lighting up the valley; like a fragrant, blooming rose.
Your song is greater than everything – greater than spring showers or blooming flowers.
Tell us, you avian spirit, your thoughts!  Your song is more divine than anything I have ever heard.  A choir of voices singing hymns or chanting victory is nothing in comparison.
What causes you to sing so happily?  There is no annoyance or laziness in your voice; only love, and you have never been hurt by it.
You must have some greater knowledge of the world than we mortal humans; how else could your song seem so profound?
We never live in the present but instead the past and future; we long for what we do not have; our happiness is never without some element of pain; our best songs are always sad.  Yet even if we had no knowledge of hate, pride, or fear, even if we never knew what it was to cry, we could never be as joyful as you.
You are more skilled than any poet, with a song better than any other, better than any story in any book.
Let me feel even half of your happiness, and the world would be compelled to listen to my words, as I am compelled to listen to your song, right now.