SNIPPET: Fame came early in the short life of brilliant Welsh poet Dylan THOMAS from Swansea. When he was 20, he played his part in London's literary scene of the day. He led a rather Bohemian life-style, including heavy drinking. A friend of the poet, Geoffrey GRIGSON, at last urged Dylan to leave London for awhile and made arrangements for a place of retreat. As a result, Dylan THOMAS spent the summer of 1935 in Ireland, in a small cottage in Co. Donegal. There may seen to be a certain irony in the fact that GRIGSON chose Ireland in his attempts to withdraw alcoholic beverages from THOMAS. THOMAS wrote of rugged and breath-taking Co. Donegal -- "Here in Ireland, I'm further away than ever from the permanent world. I'm writing by candle-light all alone in a cottage facing the Atlantic --- Soon I'm going out for a walk in the dark by myself; that'll make happy as hell." To another friend he wrote, "I am ten miles from the nearest human being , with the exception of the deaf farmer who gives me food," referring to Dan WARD and his Irish-speaking wife Rose, who provided meals and sometimes a bit of poitin (illicit whiskey). There was fishing up in the mountain lakes or walks down at the seashore, and late at night THOMAS often joined the WARDs for a chat in front of the peatfire listening to local lore. Only once a week THOMAS would bring himself to walk the ten miles to the next pub, more often than not in tough weather. "It rains and it rains. All the damned seagulls are fallen angels." Originally, this place at the end of the world had been discovered by American artist Rockwell KENT in the 1920s. Kent had converted an old donkey-stable into a makeshift studio, but finally abandoned it again when he got weary of too much solitude. This former studio is the cottage that Dylan THOMAS rented in 1935. The Glencolumbkille district where Dylan THOMAS spent his holidays is just one of at least three parts of beautiful and wild Donegal that are suitable for hill-walking. THOMAS returned to Ireland in August, 1946, this time with his wife Caitlin MacNAMARA of Ennistymon who was of Irish stock. He spent the "a day on the Blasket: a very calm day, they say: the wind blew me about like a tissue-paper man, and dashed us against the donkeys." DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT 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. 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, And learn, 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, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 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. -- Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)