TAVERN
  - Edna St. Vincent Millay

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

There shall be plates a-plenty
    And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
    Who happen up the hill.

There sound will sleep the traveller
    And dream his journey's end
But I will rouse at midnight
    The falling fire to mend.

Aye, 'tis a curious fancy -
    But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
    A long time ago.