William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

161. Apparition 4/12/2010
162. Anterotics 4/12/2010
163. Anterotics 4/12/2010
164. Andante Con Moto 4/12/2010
165. Allegro Maestoso 4/12/2010
166. After 4/12/2010
167. A Wink From Hesper 4/12/2010
168. A Thanksgiving 4/12/2010
169. A New Song To An Old Tune 4/12/2010
170. A Love By The Sea 4/12/2010
171. A Late Lark Twitters From The Quiet Skies 4/12/2010
172. A Desolate Shore 4/12/2010
173. A Dainty Thing's The Villanelle 4/12/2010
174. A Child 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

[Hata Bildir]