Love and Friendship

Love is like the wild rose-brier,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-brier blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild-rose brier is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-brier fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He may still leave thy garland green.