Peddler
If my life has melted to an endless dream, my chase is over. I shall sit here and my soul will become an endless thought of narcissus.
(He seats himself beside his basket; Shepherd stands despairingly; the Slender Nun appears from the right: She is small and her body like a thin drooping stem; she wears the black dress of a nun but her child face is uncovered. Her feet are bare. She stops, standing a step away from the Peddler.)
The Slender Nun
I see a candle that is like an arm stiffened in prayer. (She pauses.) Palest purple window, is my soul standing behind you and spreading to light that gently thrusts me down? A flamed-loosed angel lifted it from me. I ran after him. He seemed to touch you, window, like a vapor kiss dying upon pale purple silk. (A pause.) Must I stand here always waiting for my soul, like a flower petal pressed deep into the earth by passing feet?
The Shepherd
You have lost a soul and I a tune. Let me make you the tune and you make me your soul. You could sit with me on my rock in the hills and make a soul of my reed-rippling, and, piping of you, I might weave a new tune.
The Nun
Can you give me a soul that will be Christ floating out in clear music? Only then I would go with you.
Shepherd (sadly)