little flower raining, it Is

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