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.

-𝓓ylan 𝓣homas