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.
The line that sticks out to me the most within this poem is "Under the bludgeonings of chance/My head is bloody, but unbowed." The word choice is incredibly powerful. First, a bludegeon (noun) is a short heavy club, usually thicker at the spot used to hit someone. Chance is therefore characterized as a weapon: something used to beat down the speaker who has not suffered just one it but multiple (seen by the plural usage). This is emphasized by the implication of serious injury from these blows as the face is "bloody". However, despite all of this, the head remains "unbowed" - held high, erect, confident. To think of all the blows and challenges life, or "chance", has presented this speaker, the speaker refused to bow to it.
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