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by William Ernest Henley

 Out of the night that covers me
 Black as a 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.

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