Edna St. Vincent Millay — 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.