This is a spectacular poem by William Ernest Henley written in 1875. The title means “Unconquered” in Latin.
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.
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.
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.
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.
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
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Alyson sent me this poem on Tuesday evening.
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4 comments:
Sleep Well !
Pressing the "Like" button!
What happened to yesterday's post about the room and walkers, and Wilson's sprawl and such?
It's a beautiful poem unlike some who wrap themselves in it.
Oklahoma bomber Timothy McVeigh recited it before his execution.
My point is - not only heroes speak its words, so do villains.
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