Invictus is a short, but powerful poem written by William Ernest Henley in 1875 and published in 1888 in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses.

Henley wrote the verses that later became Invictus while he was recovering in an infirmary after having major surgery. In 1875 one of Henley’s legs required amputation due to complications which arose from tuberculosis. Following the amputation, Henley was then told by doctors that due to unfortunate circumstance his other leg would have to undergo a similar procedure. These devastating twists of fate were but dark highlights to an already painful life stricken with poverty and the heartbreaking losses of his father and young daughter.

This poem which reaches deep into the pain of Henley’s soul has been used as a tool by prominent political figures such as Winston Churchill, Nelson Mandela, and Barack Obama to not only fortify their own constitutions, but also as inspiration shared with others who were enduring severe hardships.

Personally, this is my favorite poem. It’s not that I think it is the most eloquent poetry I have ever read, nor is it overtly witty or pretty, but every time I read it I can’t help but feel something very important. I feel, in some small way, a part of Henley’s resilience. I am inspired by his strength, motivated by his will, his tenacity. All that I have so far suffered pales in comparison to what Henley had experienced at the time, yet he still held on to hope, still had the courage to carry on.

I have a pendant I often wear which on one side has a compass rose, and the other side is inscribed with the last two lines of this poem.

May Invictus guide you as it has guided me.

Invictus

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.

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.

I encourage you to check out more poems by William Ernest Henley.