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