Answer:
My first is nothing but a name; my second is more small; my whole is of so little fame it has no name at all.
Two little holes in the side of a hill. Just as you come to the cherry-red mill.
Though I have neither legs nor feet, my use is for to go; Although I cannot speak, I tell what others want to know
What flares up and does a lot of good, and when it dies is just a piece of wood?
I'm the source of all emotion, but I'm caged in a white prison.
What never gets any wetter no matter how hard it rains?