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The sky does not bring forth any rose from the earth
None destroys it, & all fly to the earth
As the cloud sprinkles the earth
Till the resurrection brings forth every excellent soul

 

P 278

Harsh Fortune upraises no rose from the clay
But she breaks and commits it again to decay:
Dust and water, as clouds, if aloft she convey,
The blood of the noble she sheddeth for aye.

Th 745

No rose doth Fortune uprear from the clay
But she doth break and then in dust doth lay:
If just as clouds raise water they raised clay,
'T would rain blood of the great till Judgment Day!

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