Tavern

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 tend.

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

        Edna St. Vincent Millay