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 I know the roads in that place: Mareuil to the north-east, La Tour, There are three keeps near Mareuil, And an old woman, glad to hear Arnaut, Glad to lend one dry clothing.

I have walked into Perigord, I have seen the torch-flames, high-leaping, 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 Bertran's old layout, Have seen Narbonne, and Cahors and Chalus, Have seen Excideuil, carefully fashioned.

I have said: "Here such a one walked. "Here Cœur-de-Lion was slain. "Here was good singing. "Here one man hastened his step. "Here one lay panting."