Love is like the wild rose-briar, Friendship like the holly-tree�?BR>The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the 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 thee with the holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He may still leave thy garland green.
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