Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

 Love is like the wild rose-briar;
     Friendship like the holly-tree.
     The holly 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 blights thy brow,
     He still may leave thy garland green.