Rage Against The Dying Of The Light. Poem by Vlad Nov

Don't 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.





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.