Não entreis docilmente nessa noite serena,
porque a velhice deveria arder e delirar no termo do dia;
odeia, odeia a luz que começa a morrer.
No fim, ainda que os sábios aceitem as trevas,
porque se esgotou o raio nas suas palavras, eles
não entram docilmente nessa noite serena.
Homens bons que clamaram, ao passar a última onda, como podia
o brilho das suas frágeis ações ter dançado na baia verde,
odiai, odiai a luz que começa a morrer.
E os loucos que colheram e cantaram o vôo do sol
e aprenderam, muito tarde, como o feriram no seu caminho,
não entram docilmente nessa noite serena.
Junto da morte, homens graves que vedes com um olhar que cega
quanto os olhos cegos fulgiriam como meteoros e seriam alegres,
odiai, odiai a luz que começa a morrer.
E de longe, meu pai, peço-te que nessa altura sombria
venhas beijar ou amaldiçoar-me com as tuas cruéis lágrimas.
Não entres docilmente nessa noite serena.
Odeia, odeia a luz que começa a morrer.
Tradução: Fernando Guimarães
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 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.
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 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.
Para a luz não morrer o homem tem de
conjugar conhecimento, amor e fé. O conhecimento sozinho não chega para salvar
ninguém. A tela é do pintor italiano Antonino Leto.
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