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