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