The Little Match Girl

Was reading an old book I had with Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales and I always liked this story. Even though the story is sad, you still feel happy for her in the end. I also liked the illustrations in this book so I'm including the one with the grandmother. Illustrated by Paul Durand. Forgive me for the blurriness for it is not a scan. This is my attempt at what is known as a 'ballad verse'.


She walked alone along the street
Trying to sell her wares
Hoping that she could sell a match
But could not get a stare

It was so cold and nearly dark
The snow was falling fast
Shivering with cold and hunger
Like this she would not last

Lights were shining from everywhere
For it was New Year's Eve
There was a savory smell, roast goose
A joy that she can't live

Sank down, she did and huddled up
She drew in her little feet
Going home without a penny
Her father will surely beat

Her hands were frozen with the cold
Perhaps a burning match
Could warm her up a little bit
She drew one out and scratched

It burned so bright just like a stove
with brass feet and ornament
It felt so warm she stretched her feet
But the flame soon out it went

So out she took another match
And rubbed against the wall
The flame then made the wall seem clear
She looked right in with awe

A roast goose was on the table
Such a splendid dinner
But with a knife still in its back
Got up and walked to her

The match went out, the wall returned
And nothing there remained
So out she took another match
And struck the wall again

This time beneath a Christmas tree
So beautifully adorned
She stretched out her hand towards it
But then the flame was gone

The girl looked at the Christmas lights
As they rose higher and higher
They looked like stars and then one fell
Leaving a bright streak of fire

"Someone is dying," thought the girl
As told by her grandmother
Each time one falls a soul goes up
As God receives another

Again she rubbed against the wall
The light shone all around her
In the brightness, clear and shining
Stood her old grandmother

"Grandmother," cried the little one
"O take me with you please"
"I know you'll go when the match burns out"
"Like the stove, the goose, and tree"

In order to keep Grandmother there
The matches, burned them all
Grandmother appeared so beautiful
Like she never seen before

As Grandmother bent and picked her up
Taking her in her arms
And up they flew, brightness and joy
Where they'll never come to harm

There she laid with pale cheeks and smile
Leaning against the wall
As the New Year's Sun rose up
And shone upon her corpse

"She tried to warm herself," some said
Seeing the matches burnt
What beautiful things she experienced
No one will ever learn