Classic Poem

The dancing flames as from the logs they fly,
And upward leap as though to seek the sky,
Seem like the souls of fallen pines to me,
Eager, elate, at thought of being free;
And now and then a soft, scarce-whispered hiss
That greets the ear suggests a parting kiss—
Or is't the sigh of one who at the last
Recalls some blissful moment of the past?