"She can't be unhappy," you said,
  "The smiles are like stars in her eyes,
And her laugh 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.