Sara Teasdale

At Sea

  In the pull of the wind I stand, lonely,
   On the deck of a ship, rising, falling,
  Wild night around me, wild water under me,
   Whipped by the storm, screaming and calling.

  Earth is hostile and the sea hostile,
   Why do I look for a place to rest?
  I must fight always and die fighting
   With fear an unhealing wound in my breast.