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.
***
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll
I am master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William E. Henley, «Invictus»
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