By E. 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.


This poem is in the public domain.