Dylan Thomas
Dylan Thomas
Dylan Marlais Thomaswas a Welsh poet and writer whose works include the poems "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "And death shall have no dominion"; the 'play for voices' Under Milk Wood; and stories and radio broadcasts such as A Child's Christmas in Wales and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog. He became widely popular in his lifetime and remained so after his premature death at the age of 39 in New York City. By...
NationalityWelsh
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth27 October 1914
CitySwansea, Wales
In the beginning was the word, the word That from the solid bases of the light Abstracted all the letters of the void....
Rage, rage against the dying light
Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is always true "Poem on His Birthday
It is the measure of my individual struggle from darkness toward some measure of light.
the moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...
Love is the last light spoken.
Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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
I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
Chastity prays for me, piety sings, Innocence sweetens my last black breath, Modesty hides my thighs in her wings, And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
Let the dry eyes perceive Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses By the curve of the nude mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.
Youth calls to age across the tired years: 'What have you found,' he cries, 'what have you sought?" 'What have you found,' age answers through his tears, 'What have you sought.
Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fathers live, my love? Over the hills and far away. You're looking up at me now. I know what you're thinking, you poor little milky creature. You're thinking, you're no better than you should be, Polly, and that's good enough for me. Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?
I sang in my chains like the sea