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."