Dylan Thomas

Incarnate devil in a talking snake,
The central plains of Asia in his garden,
In shaping-time the circle stung awake,
In shapes of sin forked out the bearded apple,

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's

Now as I was young and easy under the apple
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and

In the mustardseed sun,
By full tilt river and switchback sea  Where the cormorants scud,
In his house on stilts high among beaks  And palavers of
This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave  He celebrates and

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,

I have longed to move
From the hissing of the spent
And the old terrors' continual
Growing more terrible as the

I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-onin the world between the covers of books, such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,,, such staggering peace, such enormous laughter, such and so many blinding bright lights,, ,splashing all ov...