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The Mistletoe.
Sly elf, with rosy finger tips
Pressed tightly on your rosy lips,
I pray you, tell us what you know
About this branch of mistletoe.
December speaks.
The mistletoe is old and wise,
And always watched by cunning spies;
I do not dare to tell you how
And where I found this curious bough,
Oh, if I should forget, and speak,
They'd pull my ear, and pinch my cheek!
And this is why my finger tips
I press so tightly on my lips.
A good-night kiss to you I blow,
As I trip under the mistletoe!
Edith M. Thomas.
