William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

1. Invictus 1/3/2003
2. A Love By The Sea 4/12/2010
3. I Am The Reaper 1/1/2004
4. O Gather Me The Rose 1/3/2003
5. Between The Dusk Of A Summer Night 1/1/2004
6. A Child 4/12/2010
7. Madam Life's A Piece In Bloom 1/3/2003
8. The Rain And The Wind 1/3/2003
9. It Came With The Threat Of A Waning Moon 4/12/2010
10. Ballade Of Dead Actors 1/3/2003
11. If I Were King 1/3/2003
12. England, My England 1/4/2003
13. A Thanksgiving 4/12/2010
14. There's A Regret 1/3/2003
15. A Desolate Shore 4/12/2010
16. Margaritae Sorori 1/4/2003
17. Let Us Be Drunk 4/12/2010
18. A Late Lark Twitters From The Quiet Skies 4/12/2010
19. London Voluntaries Iv: Out Of The Poisonous East 1/1/2004
20. Double Ballade On The Nothingness Of Things 1/3/2003
21. A New Song To An Old Tune 4/12/2010
22. A Dainty Thing's The Villanelle 4/12/2010
23. Life Is Bitter 4/12/2010
24. Barmaid 1/3/2003
25. Croquis 1/3/2003
26. Ave, Caesar! 4/12/2010
27. Thick Is The Darkness 4/12/2010
28. We Shall Surely Die 4/12/2010
29. Apparition 4/12/2010
30. Allegro Maestoso 4/12/2010
31. A Wink From Hesper 4/12/2010
32. I. M. R. T. Hamilton Bruce (1846-1899) 1/1/2004
33. Kate-A-Whimsies, John-A-Dream 4/12/2010
34. After 4/12/2010
35. Over The Hills And Far Away 4/12/2010
36. I Gave My Heart To A Woman 4/12/2010
37. Attadale, West Highlands 4/12/2010
38. In The Year That's Come And Gone 4/12/2010
39. Villon's Straight Tip To All Cross Coves 1/1/2004
40. Friends.... Old Friends...... 4/12/2010
Best Poem of 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.

Read the full of Invictus


The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then,
He groped and fiddled doggedly along,
His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng
The stony peevishness of sightless men.
He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again,
Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,
So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,
You hardly could distinguish one in ten.
He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand,

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