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 be 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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