Out of the night that covers me,
dark as the pit that runs 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 anxiety.
Under the blows of the ax
fate of my head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and anger
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
life
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
INVICTUS!
of WE Henley, 1875
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