Poems by William Ernest Henley

« ‹ 1 2 3 4 5

When you are old, and I am passed away –

Passed, and your face, your golden face is gray –

I think, what’er the end, this dream of mine,

Comforting you, a friendly star will shine

Down the dim slope where you still stumble and stray.

So may it be: that so dead yesterday,

Not sad-eyed ghost but generous and gay,

May serve your memories like almighty wine,

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.