| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn. 214 Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours of life. 215 God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands. 216 My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names. 217 The service of the fruit is precious, the service of the flower is sweet, but let my service be the service of
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