Though, if you ask her name, she says 'Elise,' <br />Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass, <br />And own that, if her aspirates take their ease, <br />She ever makes a point, in washing glass, <br />Handling the engine, turning taps for tots, <br />And countering change, and scorning what men say, <br />Of posing as a dove among the pots, <br />Nor often gives her dignity away. <br />Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes <br />Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist; <br />Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries <br />From penny novels to amend her taste; <br />And, having mopped the zinc for certain years, <br />And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/london-types-barmaid/
