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