Dylan Thomas - No entres dócilmente en la noche callada

No entres dócilmente en la noche callada,
que al morir la luz la vejez debería
delirar y arder; odia el fin de la jornada.

Aunque el sabio ve en su ocaso la alborada,
como a su verbo el rayo vigor no confía
no entra dócilmente en la noche callada.

Llora el hombre bueno tras la última oleada,
por lo que pudo su obra danzar en la bahía,
y odia, odia feroz el fin de la jornada.

Y el loco, que al sol cogió al vuelo en su albada,
y advierte, aunque tarde, la ofensa que le hacía,
no entra dócilmente en la noche callada.

Y el grave, que al morir ve con ciega mirada
que ojos ciegos ser pueden meteoros de alegría,
odia, odia feroz el fin de la jornada.

Y tú, padre mío, de tu cima alejada,
maldice o bendíceme con voz airada o pía.
No entres dócilmente en la noche callada.
Odia, odia feroz el fin de la jornada.


Dylan Thomas, de Poemas 1934-1952



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.