Tavern
I’llkeep a little tavernBelow the high hill’s crest,Wherein all grey-eyed peopleMay sit them down and rest.There shall be plates a-plenty,And mugs to melt the chillOf all the grey-eyed peopleWho happen up the hill.There sound will sleep the traveller,And dream his journey’s end,But I will rouse at midnightThe falling fire to tend.Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—But all the good I knowWas taught me out of two grey eyesA long time ago.
I’llkeep a little tavernBelow the high hill’s crest,Wherein all grey-eyed peopleMay sit them down and rest.There shall be plates a-plenty,And mugs to melt the chillOf all the grey-eyed peopleWho happen up the hill.There sound will sleep the traveller,And dream his journey’s end,But I will rouse at midnightThe falling fire to tend.Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—But all the good I knowWas taught me out of two grey eyesA long time ago.
I’llkeep a little tavernBelow the high hill’s crest,Wherein all grey-eyed peopleMay sit them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,And mugs to melt the chillOf all the grey-eyed peopleWho happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,And dream his journey’s end,But I will rouse at midnightThe falling fire to tend.
Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—But all the good I knowWas taught me out of two grey eyesA long time ago.