by Sara Teasdale
"She can't be unhappy," you said,
"The smiles are like stars in her eyes,
And her laughter is thistledown
Around her low replies."
"Is she unhappy?" you said-
But who has ever known
Another's heartbreak-
All he can know is his own;
And she seems hushed to me,
As hushed as though
Her heart were a hunter's fire
Smothered in snow.
Last updated January 14, 2019