William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

1. Since Those We Love And Those We Hate 2/18/2015
2. With Strawberries We Filled A Tray 12/16/2014
3. From A Window In Princes Street 4/12/2010
4. London Types: Beef-Eater 4/12/2010
5. London Types: The Artist Muses At His Ease 4/12/2010
6. London Types:Life-Guardsman 4/12/2010
7. Prologue 4/12/2010
8. Scrubber 4/12/2010
9. The Ways Are Green 4/12/2010
10. To Me At My Fifth-Floor Window 4/12/2010
11. We Flash Across The Level 4/12/2010
12. While The West Is Paling 4/12/2010
13. London Types: 'Liza 4/12/2010
14. The Full Sea Rolls And Thunders 4/12/2010
15. Staff Nurse: New Style 4/12/2010
16. London Types: Sandwich-Man 4/12/2010
17. London Types: 4/12/2010
18. Enter Patient 4/12/2010
19. Visitor 4/12/2010
20. The Wan Sun Westers, Faint And Slow 4/12/2010
21. The Chief 4/12/2010
22. London Types: Drum-Major 4/12/2010
23. London Types: Mounted Police 4/12/2010
24. Fresh From His Fastnesses 4/12/2010
25. Orientale 4/12/2010
26. Where Forlorn Sunsets Flare And Fade 4/12/2010
27. Staff Nurse:Old Style 4/12/2010
28. In Fisherrow 4/12/2010
29. When The Wind Storms By With A Shout 4/12/2010
30. Easy Is The Triolet 4/12/2010
31. Discharged 4/12/2010
32. Gull In An Aery Morrice 4/12/2010
33. Etching 4/12/2010
34. Not To The Staring Day 4/12/2010
35. You Played And Sang A Snatch Of Song 4/12/2010
36. Vigil 4/12/2010
37. Villanelle 4/12/2010
38. House-Surgeon 4/12/2010
39. Clinical 4/12/2010
40. On The Way To Kew 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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