|Where the hills part|
in three ways,
|And three valleys, full of winding roads,|
|Fork out to south and north,|
|There is a place of trees
gray with lichen.|| 5|
|I have walked there|
thinking of old days.
is a pleached arbor;
|Old pensioners and old protected women|
|Have the right there|
it is charity.
|I have crept over old rafters,|
|Over the Dronne,|
over a stream full of lilies.
|Eastward the road lies,|
Aubeterre is eastward,
|With a garrulous old man at the inn.|
|I know the roads in that place:|
|Mareuil to the north-east,|
|There are three keeps near Mareuil,|
|And an old woman,|
glad to hear Arnaut,
|Glad to lend one dry clothing.|
|I have walked|
|I have seen the torch-flames, high-leaping,|| 20|
|Painting the front of that church,|
|And, under the dark, whirling laughter.|
|I have looked back over the stream|
and seen the high building,
|Seen the long minarets, the white shafts.|
|I have gone in Ribeyrac|
and in Sarlat,
|I have climbed rickety stairs, heard talk of Croy,|
|Walked over En Bertrans old layout,|
|Have seen Narbonne, and Cahors and Chalus,|
|Have seen Excideuil, carefully fashioned.|
|I have said:|
Here such a one walked.
|Here Coeur-de-Lion was slain.|
Here was good singing.
|Here one man hastened his step.|
Here one lay panting.
|I have looked south from Hautefort,|
thinking of Montaignac, southward.
|I have lain in Rocafixada,|
level with sunset,
|Have seen the copper come down|
tinging the mountains,
|I have seen the fields, pale, clear as an emerald,|
|Sharp peaks, high spurs, distant castles.|
|I have said: The old roads have lain here.|
|Men have gone by such and such valleys,|
|Where the great halls are closer together.|| 40|
|I have seen Foix on its rocks, seen Toulouse and Arles greatly altered,|
|I have seen the ruined Dorata.|
I have said:
I have thought of the second Troy,
|Some little prized place in Auvergnat:|
|Two men tossing a coin, one keeping a castle,|| 45|
|One set on the highway to sing.|
He sang a woman.
|Auvergne rose to the song;|
The Dauphin backed him.
|The castle to Austors!|
Pieire kept the singing
|A fair man and a pleasant.|
He won the lady,
|Stole her away for himself, kept her against armed force:|| 50|
|So ends that story.|
|That age is gone;|
|Pieire de Maensac is gone.|
|I have walked over these roads;|
|I have thought of them living.|| 55|