Love and Friendship .

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holy-tree--
The holy 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 thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December lights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.