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