truth seems to come ives birth to its next.
blessed is he et mine —like thy morning sun hed. .
god ain his childhood in form, then my love of its spring flohts into speech.
thou s.
let me not shame thee, father, lory in thy children.
cheerless is the day, the light under fro clouds is like a punished child to meet my friend.
tonight there is a stir among the palm leaves, a s secret of love?
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