Three Songs

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
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.

Give me the depth of love that springs
  From friendship in misfortune grown,
As ivy to the ruin clings,
  When every other hope has flown.

Give me that fond confiding love --
  That naught but death itself can blight;
A flame that slander cannot move,
  But burns in darkness doubly bright.

When vain desire at last and vain regret
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,
Or may the soul at once in a green plain
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain
And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?

Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air
Between the scriptured petals softly blown
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown, -
Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er
But only the one Hope's one name be there, -
Not less nor more, but even that word alone.