William Ernest Henley

(1849 - 1902 / Gloucester / England)

William Ernest Henley Poems

81. London Types: Beef-Eater 4/12/2010
82. London Types: Bluecoat Boy 4/12/2010
83. London Types: Bus Driver 4/12/2010
84. London Types: Drum-Major 4/12/2010
85. London Types: Flower-Girl 4/12/2010
86. London Types: Hawker 4/12/2010
87. London Types: 'Liza 4/12/2010
88. London Types: Mounted Police 4/12/2010
89. London Types: News Boy 4/12/2010
90. London Types: Sandwich-Man 4/12/2010
91. London Types: The Artist Muses At His Ease 4/12/2010
92. London Types:Life-Guardsman 4/12/2010
93. London Voluntaries Iv: Out Of The Poisonous East 1/1/2004
94. Madam Life's A Piece In Bloom 1/3/2003
95. Margaritae Sorori 1/4/2003
96. Midsummer Midnight Skies 4/12/2010
97. Music 4/12/2010
98. Nocturn 4/12/2010
99. Not To The Staring Day 4/12/2010
100. O Gather Me The Rose 1/3/2003
101. O, Falmouth Is A Fine Town 4/12/2010
102. O, Have You Blessed, Behind The Stars 4/12/2010
103. O, Time And Change, They Range And Range 4/12/2010
104. On The Way To Kew 4/12/2010
105. One With The Ruined Sunset 4/12/2010
106. Operation 4/12/2010
107. Orientale 4/12/2010
108. Out Of The Night That Covers Me 4/12/2010
109. Over The Hills And Far Away 4/12/2010
110. Pastoral 4/12/2010
111. Praise The Generous Gods 4/12/2010
112. Pro Rege Nostro 4/12/2010
113. Prologue 4/12/2010
114. Romance 4/12/2010
115. Scherzando 4/12/2010
116. Scrubber 4/12/2010
117. She Saunters By The Swinging Seas 4/12/2010
118. Since Those We Love And Those We Hate 2/18/2015
119. Some Starlit Garden Grey With Dew 4/12/2010
120. Space And Dread And The Dark 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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