Do not go gentle into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And death shall have no dominion.
Though lovers be lost, love shall not.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower.
I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me.
In my craft or sullen art.
I sang in my chains like the sea.
The hand that signed the paper felled a city.
Time held me green and dying.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
The force that drives the water through the rocks drives my red blood.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
The poem in the palm of my hand is stone and the reader’s hand a stone.
It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
The sea is a cup of death and the land is a stained altar stone.
I loved you and love you yet, and you love me.
Time held me green and dying though I sang in my chains like the sea.
The force that drives the water through the rocks, drives my red blood.
The child is not dead, but asleep.
After the first death, there is no other.
Love the drunkenness of things being various.
And blood jumps in my ears.
The force that drives the green fuse through the flower drives my green age.
Among the stars.
And death shall have no dominion.
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.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I might with right have been one of the dead.
After the first death, there is no other.
Time holds me green and dying.
The wind that blows through the trees makes my words cold.
I sang in my chains like the sea.
The poem in the palm of my hand is stone and the reader’s hand a stone.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
The child is not dead, but asleep.
Love, the drunkenness of things being various.
The force that drives the water through the rocks drives my red blood.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
The sea is a cup of death and the land is a stained altar stone.
I loved you and love you yet, and you love me.
Time held me green and dying though I sang in my chains like the sea.
The force that drives the water through the rocks, drives my red blood.
Be First to Comment