She Loved The Autumn, I The Spring, Sad All The Songs She Loved To Sing; And In Her Face Was Strangely Set Some Great Inherited Regret. Some Look In All Things Made Her Sigh, Yea! Sad To Her The Morning Sky: 'So Sad! So Sad Its Beauty Seems' - I Hear Her Say It Still In Dreams. But When The Day Grew Grey And Old, And Rising Stars Shone Strange And Cold, Then Only In Her Face I Saw A Mystic Glee, A Joyous Awe. Spirit Of Sadness, In The Spheres Is There An End Of Mortal Tears? Or Is There Still In Those Great Eyes That Look Of Lonely Hills And Skies?