The Coolun

Come with me, under my coat,

And we will drink our

Of the milk of the white goat,

Or wine, if it be thy will;

And we will talk

Talk is a truble, too,

Out in the side of the hill,

And nothing is left to do,

But an eye to look into an

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

And the air on the mountain chill,

Where the goat lies down in her

And all but the fern is still!

Stay with me under my coat,

And we will drink our

Of the milk of the white

Out on the side of the hill.