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

Though old 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 upon a greed bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught the sun and sang its flight,
Learning, 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.


Hopefully it’s clear this this is one of the ‘poems for grownups’ that I’ve memorized. I worked on this poem by holding a printed copy while running, and working on one line after another. (I got the idea for the poem and the technique from this article.)

Perhaps because of the way I memorized it, or because of the poem itself, this was the first one that really resonated with me, allowing me to get a lot out of each individual line, more from the individual stanzas.

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