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.