William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

81. London Voluntaries Iv: Out Of The Poisonous East 1/1/2004
82. London Types:Life-Guardsman 4/12/2010
83. London Types: The Artist Muses At His Ease 4/12/2010
84. London Types: Sandwich-Man 4/12/2010
85. London Types: News Boy 4/12/2010
86. London Types: Mounted Police 4/12/2010
87. London Types: 'Liza 4/12/2010
88. London Types: Hawker 4/12/2010
89. London Types: Flower-Girl 4/12/2010
90. London Types: Drum-Major 4/12/2010
91. London Types: Bus Driver 4/12/2010
92. London Types: Bluecoat Boy 4/12/2010
93. London Types: Beef-Eater 4/12/2010
94. London Types: Barmaid 4/12/2010
95. London Types: 4/12/2010
96. Life Is Bitter 4/12/2010
97. Life In Her Creaking Shoes 4/12/2010
98. Let Us Be Drunk 4/12/2010
99. Last Post 4/12/2010
100. Largo E Mesto 4/12/2010
101. Lady Probationer 4/12/2010
102. Kate-A-Whimsies, John-A-Dream 4/12/2010
103. It Came With The Threat Of A Waning Moon 4/12/2010
104. Invictus 1/3/2003
105. Interlude 4/12/2010
106. Interior 4/12/2010
107. In The Year That's Come And Gone 4/12/2010
108. In The Waste Hour 4/12/2010
109. In The Placid Summer Midnight 4/12/2010
110. In The Dials 4/12/2010
111. In Rotten Row 4/12/2010
112. In Fisherrow 4/12/2010
113. If It Should Come To Be 4/12/2010
114. If I Were King 1/3/2003
115. I. M. R. T. Hamilton Bruce (1846-1899) 1/1/2004
116. I Gave My Heart To A Woman 4/12/2010
117. I Am The Reaper 1/1/2004
118. House-Surgeon 4/12/2010
119. Here They Trysted, And Here They Strayed 4/12/2010
120. Gull In An Aery Morrice 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


Though, if you ask her name, she says Elise,
Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass,
And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,
She ever makes a point, in washing glass,
Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,
And countering change, and scorning what men say,
Of posing as a dove among the pots,
Nor often gives her dignity away.
Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes

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