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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,
Invictus. Portrait of William Ernest Henley by Leslie Ward, published in Vanity Fair, 26 November 1892. " Invictus " is a short poem by the Victorian era British poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). Henley wrote it in 1875, and in 1888 he published it in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses, in the section titled "Life and Death ...
- United Kingdom
- 1875
William Ernest Henley, born August 23, 1849, was an influential British poet, perhaps best known for his poem “Invictus” (1875). He is the author of A Song of Speed (D. Nutt, 1903), Hawthorn & Lavender with Other Verses (D. Nutt, 1901), and For England’s Sake: Verses and Songs in Time of War (D. Nutt, 1900), among others.
The popularity of “Invictus” helped reinforce this attitude, as did many other works of Victorian poetry and literature. — Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor This reference to a black pit is an extension of the darkness metaphor used above and also likely a more specific allusion, perhaps to hell itself or the Victorian coal pits.
3 I thank whatever gods may be. 4 For my unconquerable soul. 5 In the fell clutch of circumstance. 6 I have not winced nor cried aloud. 7 Under the bludgeonings of chance. 8 My head is bloody, but unbowed. 9 Beyond this place of wrath and tears. 10 Looms but the Horror of the shade, 11 And yet the menace of the years.
This is an incredibly inspiring poem about overcoming obstacles and finding strength within oneself. The poem was first published in 1888—without a title—in Henley’s first volume of poetry. The title of the poem, ‘Invictus,’ which is Latin for “unconquered,” was given by the editor of “The Oxford Book of English Verse .”.
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.
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