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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