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,
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