Do not go gentle into that good Night

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 that 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.