Beams bright through the parted cloud,
And maidens are gathering the sweet breath'd May,
But these gentle sisters, oh, where are they?
And summer is come in rosy pride,
'Tis the eve of the blessed Saint John,
And the holy nuns after vespertide,
All forth from the chapel are gone;
While to taste the cool of the evening hour
The abbess hath sought the topmost tower.
"Gramercy, sweet ladye! and can it be,