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 bludgeoning 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.
--William Ernest Henley
I like this poem on a language level and a hope level, and dislike it on a bravado level and a truthiness level.
Language: That is some gorgeous meter and rhythm there. Often lesser poets will create some stilted language or else choose less complicated words if they want that kind of rhythm, or they abandon rhythm and rhyme altogether in order to use the words they want. Henley here has natural language in perfect rhythm. His poem is a pleasure.
Hope: There is always a tomorrow. Nothing to be afraid of here.
Bravado: Oh, please. You are mighty against everything that could happen? Never broken a bit? It doesn't take never going down for the count in order to be strong. You just have to get up again, and who cares about anyone counting. There's so much bravado here.
Truthiness: Unafraid? This is related to the bravado - no one who describes life and what comes next with words like wrath, tears, bludgeoning, bloody, punishments, and Horror and is unafraid. Brave is going on regardless - not the slight dimmess of mind such an avowal suggests.
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