The Fool and Trefor shared the grassy bank.
The boy could see the jester wondered why
he did not ride the horse, and by and by
the questioning would start; his poor heart sank.
The mare grazed down beside the flashing flow;
the summer sent the silent swans to sleep.
The river’s sheen revealed it green and deep,
still whispering a history of woe.
For Fairy Talk young Trefor had no ear;
and so he knew not what the whispers meant.
Against the willow's slender trunk he leant,
and wondered what had happened to the year.
He gazed toward the water’s glinting glaze,
and mused a while if Merlin knew his ways.
Sir Trefor saw the Fool
reflected in the stream;
his face no sickly grin
contorted to therein,
but showed the sadness clear
of all that he held dear;
the lines etched round his eyes,
the endless aching sighs,
and every broken dream.
And then, beside the Fool,
a figure bold and tall!
A knight in armour clad
like, yet unlike the lad
within the shining mail.
A fairy-fashioned veil,
like clothes that Trefor wore;
was this what others saw?
For he was poor, and small.
Then in between the two,
amidst the water clear
appeared another face
that brought the water grace;
a fairy in a dream,
who looked from out the stream
as though her life was lost,
and no one knew the cost
of taking her from here.
He shook himself, and made the vision flee.
Had sleep crept up to catch him unawares?
The things he’d seen were those that one who fares
far from the world of mortal sight, would see.
He knew he’d truly seen with Fairy Sight;
then wondered what the worldly wise might say.
But what he’d seen would haunt him many a day,
he’d not forget it, try as e’er he might.
He knew that he had come to wake and free
Aurorielle, whose captive power had made
this land the place that summer came and stayed.
The time had come to fight, or choose to flee.
The Fool turned round towards him, ashen grey,
and said, “I know that you have seen the Fay.”