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