He sat in the playroom pretending to watch a game of dominoes and once or twice he was able to hear for an instant the little song of the gas. The prefect was at the door with some boys and Simon Moonan was knotting his false sleeves. He was telling them something about Tullabeg.

James Joyce,  from Portrait of the Artist

Against the flare and descant of the gas
I heard an old woman in a shop maintain
This fog comes when the moon is on the wane:
And ten full days must pass
Before the crescent mows it in like grass.

John Holloway,  from Warning to a Guest