it Is little flower raining,

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