Dylan Thomas


Seek him, thou sun, in the dread wilderness,
For that he loved thee, seek thou him and bless
His upturned face with one divine caress.

Lightly, thou wind, over his dear, dark head,
Where now the wings of dreamless sleep are spread,
Whisper a benediction for the dead.

Softly, thou rain—and for his mother’s sake,
Shed thou thy tears on him; he will not wake,
No weeping through that deep repose can break.