Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should
burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know
dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle
into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail
deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the
light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they
grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near
death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be
gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the
sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go
gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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