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By 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 bludgeoning of chance 
My head is bloody but unbowed. 

Beyond the 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 straight the gate, 
How charged with punishment the scroll, 
I am the master of my fate; 
I am the captain of my soul. 

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