The Bartender

The bartender, whose beauty I’ve beheld but little

And yet which has stuck with me like the bright light

Of the morning sun, I have sought all over—in the park,

In the bar—but nowhere is she to be found.

Whether if by some fated chance, which I have come to doubt,

Where we meet and feel the spark of love,

Or whether she remains to me a floating will-o’-the-wisp

Upon the sea I drift upon, I do not know. 

But I will not soon forget the golden curls of her hair, 

And her stately presence like a goddess of old, beautiful and fair.

I will search the streets, the parks, the bars

In hope that I may find her and see her smile

And walk with her beneath our benevolent stars.