The Ballade Of The Mistletoe Bough

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 Ill 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
Asomethingthe 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!

Ellis Parker Butler

Ellis Parker Butler was an American author, humorist, and poet, best known for his short story 'Pigs Is Pigs.' Born on December 5, 1869, in Muscatine, Iowa, Butler became a prolific writer, contributing to numerous magazines and books over his career. He is remembered for his wit and humor, which marked his work. Butler passed away on September 13, 1937.

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English

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Under The Mistletoe

She stood beneath the mistletoe
    That hung above the door,
Quite conscious of the sprig above,
    Revered by maids of yore.
A timid longing filled her heart;
    Her pulses throbbed with heat;
He sprang to where the fair girl stood.
"May I, just one, my sweet?"
He asked his love, who tossed her head,
"Just do it, if, you dare!" she said.

He sat before the fireplace
    Down at the club that night.
"She loves me not," he hotly said,
    "Therefore she did but right!"
She sat alone within her room,
    And with her finger-tips
She held his picture to her heart,
    Then pressed it to her lips.
"My loved one!" sobbed she, "if you cared
You surely would have, would have, dared."

George Francis Shults

Mistletoe

Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

Walter De La Mare

Mistletoe

Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

Walter De La Mare

The Mistletoe.

    Kiss me: there now, little Neddy,
Do you see her staring steady?
There again you had a chance of her!
Didn't you catch the pretty glance of her?
See her nest! On any planet
Never was a sweeter than it!
Never nest was such as this is:
Tis the nest of all the kisses,
With the mother kiss-bird sitting
All through Christmas, never flitting,
Kisses, kisses, kisses hatching,
Sweetest birdies, for the catching!
Oh, the precious little brood
Always in a loving mood!--
There's one under Mamy's hood!

    There, that's one I caught this minute,
Musical as any linnet!
Where it is, your big eyes question,
With of doubt a wee suggestion?
There it is--upon mouth merry!
There it is--upon cheek cherry!
There's another on chin-chinnie!
No...

George MacDonald

Christmas Greens.

        Oh, Lowbury pastor is fair and young,
            By far too good for a single life,
        And many a maiden, saith gossip's tongue,
            Would fain be Lowbury pastor's wife:
        So his book-marks are 'broidered in crimson and gold,
        And his slippers are, really, a "sight to behold."

        That's Lowbury pastor, sitting there
            On the cedar boughs by the chancel rails;
        His face is clouded with carking care,
            For it's nearly five, the daylight fails
        The church is silent, the girls all gone,
        And the Christmas wreaths not nearly done.

        Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow,
            They saucily stamp at the transept door,
        And then up to the pillared aisle they go
...

George Augustus Baker, Jr.

Das Krist Kindel

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne" -
The old split-bottomed rocker - and was musing all alone.

I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,
And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.

Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,
With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star; -
And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,
With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.

And in a vision, painted like a pi...

James Whitcomb Riley