Invictus
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
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
