The Days of a Man 



A village With the year's end I resumed verse writing, but 

 lost of a more serious vein than in Cornell days. On 

 one of my early visits to France I had noticed in the 

 Index of the Auvergne "Guide Joanne/' the alluring 

 name of Viverols, which, however, failed to appear 

 in the text. The charm of the word presumably 

 from vivum, life, and polis, town combined with 

 a bit of mystery, suggested the theme of a Christmas 

 greeting to my wife in anticipation of our contem- 

 plated trip to Europe. The form I chose for the 

 verses was in slight degree an echo of the charming 

 Provencal plaint of the old man who "never went 

 to Carcassonne/' 



VIVEROLS * 



Somewhere in France, I know not where, 

 There is a town called "Viverols"; 

 I know not if 'tis near or far, 

 I know not what its features are, 

 I only know 'tis Viverols. 



I know not if its ancient walls 

 By vine and moss be overgrown; 

 I know not if the night owl calls , 

 From feudal battlements of stone 

 Inhabited by him alone; 



I know not if mid meadow lands 

 Knee deep in corn stands Viverols; 

 I know not if prosperity 

 Has robbed its life of poesy; 

 That could not be in Viverols, 

 They would not call it Viverols. 



1 At the special request of Edmund Clarence Stedman this poem appeared 

 in his "American Anthology.'* There the first line, originally written as here 

 given, was changed by me to 



"Beyond the sea, I know not where." 



332:1 



