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