THE KING OF ELFLAND’S DAUGHTER
he was young, yes once, he had sought for Elfland; but now, why now he was older; such things were for the young.
“But we saw its border,” said Zend, “the border of twilight.”
“A mist,” said Vand, “of the evening.”
“I have stood,” said Zend, “upon the edge of Elfland.
But Vand smiled and shook his bearded head as he leaned on his long crook, and every wave of his beard as he shook it slowly denied Zend’s tales of that border, and his lips smiled it away, and his tolerant eyes were grave with the lore of the fields we know.
“No, not Elfland,” he said.
And Niv agreed with Vand, for he watched his mood, studying the ways of sanity. And they spoke of Elfland lightly, as one tells of some dream that came at dawn and went away before waking. And Alveric heard with despair, for Lirazel dwelt not only over the border but even, as he saw now, beyond human belief; so that all at once she seemed remoter than ever, and he still lonelier.
“I sought for it once,” said Vand, “but no, there’s no Elfland.”
“No,” said Niv, and only Zend wondered.
“No,” replied Vand and shook his head and lifted his eyes to his sheep.
And just beyond his sheep and coming towards them
