🕦 by 稳赢计划软件免费版网站 at 2023-03-24
Thus pure the heart will grow.
A village Chorus is supposed to be assembled, and about tocommence its festive procession.
Dorilis then gave it me,
The sick One will not,Will not recoverFrom her sweet sorrow;She, when she hearethThat her true loverGrows well, falls sick.
Till I from hence can go.And when she plucks a flow'ret blue,And says "Forget-me-not!"--I, too,
THE sun still chaunts, as in old time,
Heathrose fair and tender!
Sweetest, here then stay,
Straightway is supplied!
Of the Saviour served to still;By the fountain, balm-exhaling,
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