William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

41. Double Ballad Of Life And Death 4/12/2010
42. Double Ballade On The Nothingness Of Things 1/3/2003
43. Easy Is The Triolet 4/12/2010
44. England, My England 1/4/2003
45. Enter Patient 4/12/2010
46. Envoy--To Charles Baxter 4/12/2010
47. Epilogue 4/12/2010
48. Etching 4/12/2010
49. Fill A Glass With Golden Wine 4/12/2010
50. Fresh From His Fastnesses 4/12/2010
51. Friends.... Old Friends...... 4/12/2010
52. From A Window In Princes Street 4/12/2010
53. From The Break The Nightingale 4/12/2010
54. Grave 4/12/2010
55. Gull In An Aery Morrice 4/12/2010
56. Here They Trysted, And Here They Strayed 4/12/2010
57. House-Surgeon 4/12/2010
58. I Am The Reaper 1/1/2004
59. I Gave My Heart To A Woman 4/12/2010
60. I. M. R. T. Hamilton Bruce (1846-1899) 1/1/2004
61. If I Were King 1/3/2003
62. If It Should Come To Be 4/12/2010
63. In Fisherrow 4/12/2010
64. In Rotten Row 4/12/2010
65. In The Dials 4/12/2010
66. In The Placid Summer Midnight 4/12/2010
67. In The Waste Hour 4/12/2010
68. In The Year That's Come And Gone 4/12/2010
69. Interior 4/12/2010
70. Interlude 4/12/2010
71. Invictus 1/3/2003
72. It Came With The Threat Of A Waning Moon 4/12/2010
73. Kate-A-Whimsies, John-A-Dream 4/12/2010
74. Lady Probationer 4/12/2010
75. Largo E Mesto 4/12/2010
76. Last Post 4/12/2010
77. Let Us Be Drunk 4/12/2010
78. Life In Her Creaking Shoes 4/12/2010
79. Life Is Bitter 4/12/2010
80. London Types: 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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