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, unfriend.

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.

W E Henley (1849 − 1903) was an English poet of great significance during the late Victorian era. he was an editor of many literary magazines and journals of the time, and had significant influence on the culture and literary perspectives during the period.

1. fell clutch: strong grip
2. bludgeoning: hitting hard appears in a threatening way
3. menace: something that causing damage