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

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