William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

1. Anterotics 4/12/2010
2. At Queensferry 4/12/2010
3. Enter Patient 4/12/2010
4. Envoy--To Charles Baxter 4/12/2010
5. From A Window In Princes Street 4/12/2010
6. In Fisherrow 4/12/2010
7. London Types: 4/12/2010
8. London Types: Beef-Eater 4/12/2010
9. London Types: Bluecoat Boy 4/12/2010
10. London Types: 'Liza 4/12/2010
11. London Types: Sandwich-Man 4/12/2010
12. London Types: The Artist Muses At His Ease 4/12/2010
13. London Types:Life-Guardsman 4/12/2010
14. Prologue 4/12/2010
15. Scrubber 4/12/2010
16. Staff Nurse: New Style 4/12/2010
17. Staff Nurse:Old Style 4/12/2010
18. The Surges Gushed And Sounded 4/12/2010
19. The Wan Sun Westers, Faint And Slow 4/12/2010
20. The Ways Are Green 4/12/2010
21. Tree, Old Tree Of The Triple Crook 4/12/2010
22. Visitor 4/12/2010
23. While The West Is Paling 4/12/2010
24. We Flash Across The Level 4/12/2010
25. To Me At My Fifth-Floor Window 4/12/2010
26. The Shadow Of Dawn 4/12/2010
27. She Saunters By The Swinging Seas 4/12/2010
28. The Chief 4/12/2010
29. London Types: Mounted Police 4/12/2010
30. London Types: News Boy 4/12/2010
31. London Types: Drum-Major 4/12/2010
32. Music 4/12/2010
33. O, Falmouth Is A Fine Town 4/12/2010
34. London Types: Hawker 4/12/2010
35. On The Way To Kew 4/12/2010
36. In The Dials 4/12/2010
37. In The Placid Summer Midnight 4/12/2010
38. Fresh From His Fastnesses 4/12/2010
39. Back-View 4/12/2010
40. Ballade Of Youth And Age 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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