By William Ernest Henley

　　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.

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