I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest
Where all the grey-eyed people
Can set them down and rest
There will 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 traveler
And dream his journey's end
But I will rise at midnight
The fading fire to tend
Oh I know it's a curious fancy
But all the good I've known
Was taught to me by two grey eyes
A long time ago