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 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." I have seen Foix on its rock, seen Toulouse, and Arles greatly altered, I have seen the ruined "Dorata." I have said: "Riquier! Guido." I have thought of the second Troy, Some little prized place in Auvergnat: Two men tossing a coin, one keeping a castle, 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: