Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Provincia Deserta

Ezra Pound

AT Rochecoart,

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.

I have walked there
thinking of old days.

At Chalais
is a pleached arbor;

Old pensioners and old protected women

Have the right there—
it is charity.

I have crept over old rafters,
peering down

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,
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 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.”

I have seen Foix on its rocks, 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:

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.