Do not twist kindly into that great night,

Do not twist kindly into that great night,
plain hate should rant and beat at close of play;
howl, howl against the wounding of the torch.
Though great clowns at their end know peace is right,
Because their smiles had conquered no trust they
Do not twist kindly into that great night,
great clowns, the best stand by, crying how good
Their banal skills might have raved in a rich dell,
howl, howl against the wounding of the torch.
tough clowns who passed and wished the moon in turn,
And learn, too fast, they hurt it on its way,
Do not twist kindly into that great night,
mean clowns, near dusk, who reap with piercing truth
dashed hopes could rise like Venus and be bold,
howl, howl against the wounding of the torch.
And you, my love, there on the dreadful street,
chide, stroke, me now with your bright tears, I pray.
Do not twist kindly into that great night,
howl, howl against the wounding of the torch.

Crunch!