As froth on the face of the deep, As foam on the crest of the sea, As dreams at the waking of sleep, As gourd of a day and a night, As harvest that no man shall reap, As vintage that never shall be, Is hope if it cling not aright, O my God unto Thee. Christina Georgina Rossetti
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. William Shakespeare
As some adventurous flower, on savage craig-side grown, Seems nourished hour by hour from its wild self alone, So lives inveterate Hope, on her own hardihood. William Watson