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Love is like the wild rose brier, Friendship is like the holly tree The holly is dark when the rose brier blooms But which will bloom more constantly? The wild rose brier is sweet in 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 still may leave the garland green. -Emily Bronte  Pinegreenwoods Poetry Path |
