Outside the lamplighter passed, torching the grimy lamps.
"The Mettle of the Pasture"
James Lane Allen
As on the river in the fading light A rust-red sail across the evening creeps, torching the gloom, and slowly sinks from sight, The blood may rise to some old face at night, Remembering old sins before it sleeps.
"Poems"
Muriel Stuart
Another of those red flashes from the sullen coals of many and long years' hatred roared up in Lane like the torching of a pitch-tree.
"King Spruce, A Novel"
Holman Day