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