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