Tavern

I'll keep a little tavern
&nbspBelow the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
&nbspMay set them down and rest.

There shall be plates a-plenty,
&nbspAnd mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
&nbspWho happen up the hill.

There sound will sleep the traveller,
&nbspAnd dream his journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
&nbspThe falling fire to tend.

Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—
&nbspBut all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
&nbspA long time ago.