When dainty dimples come and go,
And maidens shrink with feignëd fright—
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
A privilege 'tis then, you know,
To exercise time-honoured rite;
When Christmas fires gleam and glow
When loving lips may pout, although
With other lips they oft unite—
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
If Florry then should whisper "No!"