Poem by Emily Jane Brontë

Love and Friendship

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 contantly?

The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil 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. 

1. The Wind Was Rough Which Tore
2. I See Around Me Tombstones Grey
3. Death, That Struck When I Was Most Confiding
4. High Waving Heather 'Neath Stormy Blasts Bending
5. Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place

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