If A Gentle Goodnight

Poem Dedicated To Turkish Historical Painting

If you can keep your head when the pattern patter starts mentally inside brain, when some may be losing theirs while blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself while all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too …If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:If you can dream and not make dreams your master; If you can think and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same.

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings,

To risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,Then lose, and start again at your beginnings and never breathe a word about your loss, If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much, if you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And which is more you’ll be a simple man no matter if wasnt honest whole life.
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day rage, Much 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, they speak louder in tongue.They’ve learned,yet … 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,This Rage, the rage against the dying of the sun 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. My son, If we could go back, I’d change all your pains to happiness. Your eyes have seen things that I can’t take away, But I’ll remember you forever, No longer raging, No matter the night.