I, in Disgust with the Living, Having Read

I, in disgust with the living, having read
Much of the accomplished dead,
Was nagged by the clucking of the robin, clucking her over-fed
Young off the nest—and what a night, I said,
Raining cats and dogs and blowing like hell, 
To haul babies out of bed.

And I thought: their wings will be wet,
And heavy, in the long grass; and she will not let me help her,
     she is such a fuss-
Budget, and so stupid, trusting the hostile
Weather, and afraid of her friends. Oh, well.

"Afraid of her friends"?... I thought of a friendship extended
     to me,
And of my rejecting it, suspicious and wary.
And then I thought of the sea making
Between Ragged and Orr's,
And between their shores four miles of open water, and the
     wind blowing up, and a wicked swell, and me

Pitched and sliding and banged by the wave under the bow,
     and drenched with spray, and snug and content...
Because I knew that the sea
Was not concerned with me, might possibly 
Drown me, but willed me no ill.