Do not wait gently for the nova’s light,
Your race should seethe against the coming day,
Rage, rage against the dying of the night.

While wise races know when the end is right,
Because their kin have left no sun they
Do not wait gently for the nova’s light.

Old ones, the last day, crying how they might
Have made great new glory of a fresh day,
Rage, rage against the dying of the night.

Wild races, who catch and move suns in flight,
Yet learn, too late, how empty is this play,
Do not wait gently for the nova’s light.

Grave races, near doom, who fear their falling height
Stilled hearts, which mourn the ending of day,
Rage, rage against the dying of the night.

And you, my children, on this your final night,
Curse, bless me with your final tears, I pray.
Do not wait gently for the nova’s light.
Rage, rage against the dying of the night.