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 fate
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.
Angels wondered if Nick Drew might be seized by the Muse and give us some more verses on the Prime Minister's state of mind.
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1 comment:
I might, HG, I might ...
with the usual apologies
A Tarnished PM Foresees His Moral Death
I know that I shall lose the vote
Sometime in March, or May, or June
Those ranged against me laugh and gloat
Those on my side think me poltroon
My country is extremely cross
My countrymen despise my name
No likely end can spare me loss
Or flood of tears wash clean my shame
Nor law, nor sense of wrong and right
Nor moral compass did I heed
A sordid impulse of pure fright
Drove me to base and craven deed
I balance all, bring all to mind
I've dashed their hopes, betrayed their trust
‘Son of the Manse’ by all maligned
My reputation, turned to dust
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