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.
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 that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Counterpoint:
Step gently, gently lift the
veil of night
in quiet anticipation face the end
of day
rejoice rejoice at a life lived
in full,
a cup drained to the botom
a dance well danced
in wonderment
gaze at the waning of the
light
Pose trembling
at the threshold of life anew.
A song, high and true
rises in your throat
joy, joy, the glorious light,
the dance of life
creating worlds at each turn
calls you.