Tavern
Edna St. Vincent Millay
1892 to 1950
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I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May sit them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—
But the good I know
Was taught me out of grey eyes
A long time ago.
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