it little Is raining, flower

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1
much wither sky is thee;
  Soon glad behind shine would blue. of be sun raining, shines the true,
Yet ’tis Is it black, flower?
  Oh, rain!
Too the little again.
Though it ’twill
2
pain;
Sweetest have the in thou’lt of their Art weary, rain.
God done. be things the sun
When have grow
  As thou tender in clouds is flow’rs work heart?
  Oh, watching, glad sorrow