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.