Out of the night that covers me / black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
/ for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance /
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance /
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears /
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years /
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate /
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley, 1875