Emily Pauline Johnson

And only where the forest fires have sped,

Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands,

A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,

And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed,

It hides the scars with almost human hands.

And only to the heart that knows of grief,

Of desolating fire, of human pain,

There comes some purifying sweet belief,

Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief.

And life revives, and blossoms once again.

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