I am standing under the mistletoe, And I smile, but no answering smile repliesFor her haughty glance bids me plainly know That not for me is the thing I prize;Instead, from her coldly scornful eyes, Indifference looks on my barefaced guile;She knows, of course, what my act implies— But look at those lips! Do they hint a smile?
I stand here, eager, and beam and glow, And she only looks a refined surpriseAs clear and crisp and as cold as snow, And as—Stop! I will never criticise!I know what her cold glance signifies; But I’ll stand just here as I am awhileTill a smile to my pleading look replies— But look at those lips! Do they hint a smile?
Just look at those lips, now! I claim they show A spirit unmeet under Christmas skies;I claim that such lips on such maidens owe A—something—the custom justifies;I claim that the mistletoe rule applies To her as well as the rank and file;We should meet these things in a cheerful guise— But look at those lips! Do they hint a smile?
Ellis Parker, Butler