Bartenders have their elixers, their vials,
Their amphorae, aiding forgetfulness;
Their colored stoppered bottles and their oils
When damaged thinking later needs redress.
And then of course they have their shadowed haunts,
That are like caves brimming with alchemy,
Carbuncles, shining there, and pleasing taunts
From ghostly figures that you partly see.
For things that at the moment seem so real
Will vanish later in the light of day
And every fleeting tenderness you feel
By morning will have quickly flown away
Almost as if such things had never been -
Yet kindly still persists a lingering dream.