This poem by William Henry Blake, his favorite, is the poem which got him through his 25 years in the tiny cell in which he was imprisoned.
INVICTUS
by 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.
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