Do not go gentle

I haven't read much from Dylan Thomas. But, how can I help loving this extreme disciplining of one's desperation? 

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.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Conozco muy poco de Dylan Thomas. Es inevitable que me encante este poema, y el autocontrol de la desesperación que muestra.  

No entres con calma en la plácida noche,
La vejez debe arder furiosa al final del día;
Lucha contra la muerte de la luz. 

Aunque los sabios al fin aprecian lo oscuro,
Al no haber sido relámpagos sus palabras,
No entran con calma en la plácida noche.

Los buenos lloran por agua pasada.
Sus logros no bailaron en verdes aguas,
Luchan contra la muerte de la luz.

Salvajes que atrapan el sol al vuelo,
Y aprenden tarde cuánto así lo ofenden,
No entran con calma en la plácida noche.

Los solemnes, moribundos, si entienden que
Ojos ciegos pueden brillar y ser felices,
Luchan contra la muerte de la luz.

Y tú, padre mío, ahí en las alturas,
Maldíceme, bendíceme con lágrimas,
No entres con calma en la plácida noche,
Lucha contra la muerte de la luz.