Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,

Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold;

His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore,

Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.

Sir John Denham (1615-1668): Cooper's Hill. Line 165.

Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam,

Where the shrill winds whistle free.

Charles Mackay (1814-1889): Some love to roam.

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that ofttimes hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

John Keats (1795-1821): Ode to a Nightingale.

Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river,

Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and forever!

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): Lady of the Lake. Canto iii. Stanza 16.

I wiped away the weeds and foam,

I fetched my sea-born treasures home;

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things

Had left their beauty on the shore,

With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882): Each and All.