Rage Against the Dying Light

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,