by William Ernest Henley; 1849-1903

Out of the night that covers me,Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may beFor my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstanceI have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, 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.

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