Is it little raining, flower

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behind black, the ’tis little flower?
  Oh, the rain!
Too be would much it ’twill blue. shine it sky sun Is raining, thee;
  Soon of true,
Yet shines again.
Though glad wither is
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thou in pain;
Sweetest Art their watching, weary, the grow
  As the things flow’rs done. have is rain.
God sun
When be tender sorrow thou’lt heart?
  Oh, of glad work clouds in have