Out of night that covers me
Black as the fit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
Por my unconqurable soul
In the fell clutch of circumatance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed
Beyond this place of wrath and teara
Looms but the Horror of the ahade
And yet the menace of the yeara
It mattera not how atarit the gate
how charged with punishments the acroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the caption of
(William Ernest Henley)
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