Love iz like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree –
The holly iz dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly.

The wild-rose briar iz 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.