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Rage, rage against the dying light

Dylan Thomas

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Dylan Thomas
Age: 39 †
Born: 1914
Born: October 27
Died: 1953
Died: November 9
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Abertawe
Dylan Marlais Thomas
Rage
Dying
Light

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Youth calls to age across the tired years: 'What have you found,' he cries, 'what have you sought? 'What have you found,' age answers through his tears, 'What have you sought.
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And time cast forth my mortal creature To drift or drown upon the seas Acquainted with the salt adventure Of tides that never touch the shores. - I who was rich was made the richer By sipping at the the vine of days.
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These poems, with all their crudities, doubts, and confusions, are written for the love of Man and in praise of God, and I'd be a damn' fool if they weren't.
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Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion.
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I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, down throw and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression.
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He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest.
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The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.
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I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
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My tears are like the quiet drift of petals from some magic rose and all my grief flows from the rift of unremembered skies and snows. I think that if I touched the earth, it would crumble it is so sad and beautiful, so tremulously like a dream.
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It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
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And death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through Split all ends up they shan't crack And death shall have no dominion.
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And now, gentlemen, like your manners, I must leave you.
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... Rebel against the flesh and bone, The word of the blood, the wily skin, And the maggot no man can slay.
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Hands have not tears to flow.
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This world is half the devil's and my own, Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl and curling round the bud that forks her eye.
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The only sea I saw Was the seesaw sea With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.
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In the beginning was the word, the word That from the solid bases of the light Abstracted all the letters of the void.
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Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision that depends in its intensity on the strength of the labour put into the creation of the poetry.
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Life always offers you a second chance. is called tomorrow.
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A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill's shoulder.
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