William Shakespeare I ever love, where never hope appears, Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care, And my life's hope would die, but for despair; My never-certain joy breeds ever certain fears; Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope, Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere; Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope, Yet this large room is bounded with despair; So my love is still fettered with vain hope, And liberty deprives him of his scope, And thus am I imprisoned in the air. Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head, Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.