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A Year of Poetry – Day 145

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.

— Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

2 Comments

  1. John in Philly

     /  September 15, 2016

    My father’s health had been in decline before he died.
    During some family gathering he overhead the remark, “You have to die from something.”
    Dad raised his voice slightly and in a tone of voice that rang with utter and total conviction said, “Only someone who has not laid halfway through death’s door and prayed desperately to be dragged back to land of the living would say that.”
    Reading today’s post brought that incident back with great clarity.

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