Friends . . old friends. . . One sees how it ends. A woman looks Or a man tells lies, And the pleasant brooks And the quiet skies, Ruined with brawling And caterwauling, Enchant no more As they did before; And so it ends with friends.
I captain an army Of shining and generous dreams
From the winter’s gray despair, From the summer’s golden languor, Death, the lover of Life, Frees us for ever.
Far in the stillness a cat Languishes loudly. A cinder Falls, and the shadows Lurch to the leap of the flame.
Life is (I think) a blunder and a shame.
In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.
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.
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.