Tavern

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

　　

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I'll keep a little tavernBelow the high hill's crest,Wherein all grey-eyed peopleMay set them down and rest.There shall be plates a-plenty,And mugs to melt the chillOf all the grey-eyed peopleWho happen up the hill.There sound will sleep the traveller,And dream his journey's end,But I will rouse at midnightThe falling fire to tend.Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—But all the good I knowWas taught me out of two grey eyesA long time ago.

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