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