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,
It's summer blossoms scent the air.
Yet wait till winter comes again...

Poet: Emily Bronte

When we were idlers with the loitering rills,
The need of human love we little noted:
Our love was nature; and the peace that floated
On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills,
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills:
One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted,...