The Coolun

Come with me, under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine if it be thy will ;
And we will talk until
Talk is a trouble, too,

Out on the side of the hill,
And nothing is left to do,
But an eye to look into an eye
And a hand in a hand to slip,
And a sigh to answer a sigh,
And a lip to find out a lip :
What if the night be black
And the air on the mountain chill,
Where the goat lies down in her track
And all but the fern is still !
Stay with me under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat
Out on the side of the hill.