N’entre pas docilement dans cette douce nuit,
Le vieil âge doit gronder, tempêter, au déclin du jour,
Hurler, hurler à l’agonie de la lumière,

Si le sage sentant la fin sait que les ténèbres sont justes,
Car ses mots n’ont point forgé de foudre,
Il n’entre pas docilement dans cette douce nuit,
Hurler, hurler à l’agonie la lumière.

Version originale et suite:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day ;
Rage, rage, against dying of the light

Tough 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 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 meters 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.

Dylan Thomas