William Ernest Henley
William Ernest Henley Poems
|161.||We Shall Surely Die||4/12/2010|
|162.||We'Ll Go No More A-Roving||4/12/2010|
|163.||What Have I Done For You||4/12/2010|
|164.||What Is To Come||4/12/2010|
|165.||When The Wind Storms By With A Shout||4/12/2010|
|166.||When You Are Old||4/12/2010|
|167.||When You Wake In Your Crib||4/12/2010|
|168.||Where Forlorn Sunsets Flare And Fade||4/12/2010|
|169.||While The West Is Paling||4/12/2010|
|170.||Why, My Heart, Do We Love Her So?||4/12/2010|
|171.||With Strawberries We Filled A Tray||12/16/2014|
|172.||You Played And Sang A Snatch Of Song||4/12/2010|
|173.||Your Heart Has Trembled To My Tongue||4/12/2010|
Comments about 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.
The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then,
He groped and fiddled doggedly along,
His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng
The stony peevishness of sightless men.
He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again,
Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,
So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,
You hardly could distinguish one in ten.
He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand,