Out in the rain I saw two nuns go by,
Stately as ships, black-robed, I saw them pass,
Their hands like little nesting doves, their feet
Making no sound upon the grass.
The rain hung silver tassels on their heads,
And scribbled silver writing down their veils.
The wind nuzzled their heavy skirts and blew
Along the hems in mimic gales.
Heedless of teasing wind and rain they moved
Serene within the circle of their trance,
Their faces pale and rapt, impervious
Alike to good or evil chance.
I saw their shapes merge with the purple trees,
Become as trees in the dim, purple light
Until they vanished (so it seemed) into
A world beyond all mortal sight.
First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 30 November 1946
