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Unlike Barry

I bow to no man:

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.

                                   Invictus,

                                   William Ernest Henley

Gordon? Kevin?

Do you get it?

We are a free people. How dare you.

2 Comments

  1. Invictus says:

    Excellent poem, no? Although the pedant in me can’t help but notice you’ve missed two commas

    ‘Finds and shall find me unafraid.’ should be ‘Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.’ though only the second denotes a proper caesura.

    This reading is quite good, even if the animation is slightly terrifying: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FadohneVKU

  2. Well said. Enough of the BarryBowing.

    There’s a (probably apocryphal) story of a visitor arriving at a Texas ranch. In some versions the visitor is a yankee from Boston, in others he’s a Brit.

    Anyway, he makes the mistake of approaching a Texas cowboy, and saying “I’m here to see your master.”
    The cowboy doesn’t even look up, but spits on the ground and says “The son of a bitch don’t exist.”

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