Love is like the wild rose-briar, br Friendship like the holly-tree -- br The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms br But which will bloom most contantly? br The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring, br Its summer blossoms scent the air; br Yet wait till winter comes again br And who wil call the wild-briar fair? br Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now br And deck thee with the holly's sheen, br That when December blights thy brow br He may still leave thy garland green.