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 the 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,
God made woman from man's rib,
Not from his head ...
That he should command her,
Nor from his feet ...
That he should walk upon her,
But rather from his side ...
To be his partner in life,
From under his arm ...
To be protected by him,
And from near his heart ...
To be loved by him
He may still leave thy garland green.
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