By 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.

• Living
• Relationships

Poet Bio

Dylan Thomas grew up in Wales, however, he lived much of his life in London. At age 20, he published Eighteen Poems to instant acclaim. Thomas gave four reading tours of the United States, earning renown for mesmerizing performances and a boisterous personality. His last drinking binge at the White Horse Tavern in New York City led to his death at age 39. See More By This Poet

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