Show I OLD MASTERS I 1 Out of ot tho the night that covers me Black as the pit from polo pole pol to pole I thank whatever gods rod may be For my unconquerable soul In the tho ho fell clutch of o circumstance I have hav not winced nor aloud t der the Iho 1 of ot chance chanco lily My head Is I blood bloody but unbowed Beyond this plato place ot of wrath and tears Looms but the tir horror of ot the shade I And yet the menace of ot the th years yc I Finds au and l shall hall hall find nr mo unafraid It matters mailers not how ho strait the th g gate te how charged with punIshments the th stroll scroll I am the master masler of ot my tate fate I am tm the captain ot of o my soul W W E B Henley In nn- nn |