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