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 clutches 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 the horror of the shade,
and yet the menace of this place,
shall find me unafraid.
It matter not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.