Do not go gentle into that good night

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

Though wise leaves at their end know dark is right,
Because their green had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good leaves, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a parking bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild leaves 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 stems, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind leaves could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, old tree, 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.

Sorry, Dylan, but you sort of asked for it - I hardly had to do a thing.