Dylan Thomas

(Written as his father lay dying of cancer. He, himself, went out at 35, gloriously drunk-one helluva grand exit)

DO NOT GO GENTLE

Do not go gentle into the good night
Old age should burn and rave at the close of day,
Rage, rage against the dying of light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
because their words had forked no lightning they
do not go gentle into the 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 sung the sun in its flight,
And learn too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into the 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 the good night,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


......
I HAVE LONGED TO MOVE AWAY

I have longed to move away
From the hissing of the serpent lie
And the old terrors' continual cry
Growing more terrible as the day
Goes over into the deep sea;
I have longed to move away
From the repitition of salutes
For there are ghosts in the air
And ghostly echoes on paper,
And the thunder of calls and notes.

I have longed to move away but am afraid;
Some life, yet unspent, might explode
Out of the old lie burning on the ground,
And, crackling into the air, leave me half-blind.
neither by night's ancient fear,
The parting of hat from hair,
Pursed lips at the receiver,
Shall I fall to death's feather.
By these I would not care to die,
Half convention and half lie.