Dylan Thomas

(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953 / Swansea / Wales)

Dylan Thomas Poems

1. Shall Gods Be Said To Thump The Clouds 3/30/2010
2. Find Meat On Bones 3/30/2010
3. The Tombstone Told When She Died 3/30/2010
4. Unluckily For A Death 3/30/2010
5. Once Below A Time 3/30/2010
6. If My Head Hurt A Hair's Foot 3/30/2010
7. How Soon The Servant Sun 3/30/2010
8. Out Of The Sighs 3/30/2010
9. In The White Giant's Thigh 3/30/2010
10. I Make This In A Warring Absence 3/30/2010
11. To Others Than You 3/30/2010
12. On The Marriage Of A Virgin 3/30/2010
13. It Is The Sinners' Dust-Tongued Bell 3/30/2010
14. Why East Wind Chills 3/30/2010
15. We Lying By Seasand 3/30/2010
16. Prologue 1/3/2003
17. Limerick 3/30/2010
18. Notes On The Art Of Poetry 3/30/2010
19. Then Was My Neophyte 1/3/2003
20. Grief Thief Of Time 3/30/2010
21. When I Woke 3/30/2010
22. In Country Sleep 3/30/2010
23. The Conversation Of Prayer 1/3/2003
24. Should Lanterns Shine 1/3/2003
25. This Bread I Break 3/30/2010
26. Ceremony After A Fire Raid 3/30/2010
27. Hold Hard, These Ancient Minutes In The Cuckoo's Month 1/3/2003
28. Over Sir John's Hill 3/30/2010
29. Into Her Lying Down Head 3/30/2010
30. To-Day, This Insect 1/3/2003
31. From Love's First Fever To Her Plague 1/3/2003
32. Here In This Spring 3/30/2010
33. Vision And Prayer 1/13/2003
34. How Shall My Animal 1/3/2003
35. When, Like A Running Grave 1/3/2003
36. Our Eunuch Dreams 1/3/2003
37. Do You Not Father Me 3/30/2010
38. Once It Was The Colour Of Saying 1/3/2003
39. Twenty Four Years 1/3/2003
40. On No Work Of Words 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Dylan Thomas

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

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.


Read the full of Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Clown In The Moon

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

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