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 with thee the holly’s sheen,
Then when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.