Invictus

Invictus
William Ernest Henley
1849–1903

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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Our old friend, Ian, died last weekend.
His daughter read that poem at his funeral service, her voice faltering as she read.

The service was held in a crematorium chapel in the woods, at which Moonface & I had to listen from outside the chapel because of the large numbers of mourners. Listening from outside was very emotional, as in addition to the words of the service, we could hear the wind in the trees around us, could hear the birds singing upon all sides: blackbirds, tits, finches, robins. We could feel the cool wind and watch the other mourners huddle together to keep out the chill.