William Ernest Henley

The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
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The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with the sense of the triumphing night,--
Night with train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.

O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O! the insufferable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
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O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O! the insufferable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
These fatuous, ineffectual yesterdays.

It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the
scroll. I am the master of my fate. read more

It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the
scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

Here is the ghost
Of a summer that lived for us,
Here is a promise
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Here is the ghost
Of a summer that lived for us,
Here is a promise
Of summer to be.

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's read more

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.