Hearthless

There was a desolate village in a wood, Whose bloom-inwoven leaves now scattering fed The hungry storm; it was a place of blood, A heap of hearthless walls;—the flames were dead Within those dwellings now,—the life had fled From all those corpses now,— […]

For this reason, a hearthless pusher-type furnace has been developed.

It was not a singer of the fireside, but a hearthless wanderer, who put in all hearts the Anglo-Saxon's simple "Home, Sweet Home."