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