Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree
The holly is dark when the
rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most
constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring
Its summer blossoms scent the air ;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar
fair?
Then , scorn the silly rose-wreath
now
And deck three with the holly' s
sheen
That , when December blights thy
brow
He still may leave thy garland
green.