Do not go gentle into that good night,<br/>Old age should burn and rave at close of day; <br/>Rage, rage against the dying of the light. <br/><br/>Though wise men at their end know dark is right, <br/>Because their words had forked no lightning they <br/>Do not go gentle into that good night. <br/><br/>Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright <br/>Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, <br/>Rage, rage against the dying of the light. <br/><br/>Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, <br/>And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, <br/>Do not go gentle into that good night. <br/><br/>Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight <br/>Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, <br/>Rage, rage against the dying of the light. <br/><br/>And you, my father, there on the sad height, <br/>Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. <br/>Do not go gentle into that good night. <br/>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.