It's useless, wife, to turn it up — the oil
Is done, and you'll just char the wick.
The toil
Lamps take to keep them going! It's not long
Since last I filled it. Surely something's wrong
With a lamp that burns so quickly.
Ay, the light
We thought would burn a lifetime, in one night
Consumed its fuel in a wild flare, and we
Are left a charred wick smouldering smokily
To work by, till at last, a dull red spark,
It shall wink out and leave us in the dark.