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-