All vain asperities I day by day 
Would wear away, 
Till the smooth temper of my age should be 
Like the high leaves upon the Holly tree. 
And as when all the summer trees are seen 
So bright and green, 
The Holly leaves a sober hue display, 
Less bright than they; 
But when the bare and wintry woods we see, 
What then so cheerful as the Holly tree ? 
So serious should my youth appear among 
The thoughtless throng, 
So would I seem amid the young and gay 
, More grave than they, 
That in my age as cheerful I might be 
As the green winter of the Holly tree. 
