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 circumstances
I have not whined 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 the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
—Selected from the poem "Invictus"