The Little Matchstick Girl

So she lights another match
But soon the spark is gone
So she lights another match
And lives on

And she sees a stove of brass
How warm its fire burns!
But the match goes out
Alas, cold returns

So she lights another flame
And sees a table strewn
With dried fruit and meat and game
Bright as noon

Then, more splendid to behold
The goose hops from the plate
And walks forth, and then it's cold
Dark, and late

And another tiny light
She sees a Christmas tree
All lit up with colors bright
And pretty

Then the Christmas lights rise higher
"A falling star!" she sighs
Then there is no other fire
And she dies