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Poem	I am standing under the mistletoe, And I smile, but no answering smile replies For 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 surprise As 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 awhile Till 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? ENVOY These customs of Christmas may shock the wise, And mistletoe boughs may be out of style, And a kiss be a thing that all maids despise— But look at those lips, do! They hint a smile!
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