“
Out of the night that covers me,
— William Ernest Henley
writer, poet, journalist, editor, literary critic
🔗 Read on Wikipedia1849 – 1903
Out of the night that covers me,
In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud: Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed.
O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,
Out of the night that covers me,for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tearsFinds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,I am the captain of my soul.
Who says that we shall pass, or the fame of us fade and die,While the living stars fulfil their round in the living sky?
Some starlit garden grey with dew,Are worthy our desire?
You played and sang a snatch of song,Whose daily task is to forget?
Dear, was it really you and I?Before we can be dead indeed.
Life — life — let there be life!And wild waste places of the world!
Life — give me life until the end,The immortal, incommunicable dream.
What have I done for you,England, my own?
Life — life — life! 'Tis the sole great thingHeart on heart in the wonder of Spring!
Into a landFalls on the World, and there is no more pain.
All over the world, the nation, in a dreamInto a rich deliquium of decay.
