Hope, The Constant

How constant is hope, how faithful her trend!
Ceaselessly doth she walk beside me,
With her gaudy touch tipping
Each dull task with a scarlet light;
Making each trend of the path beckon with color.
Filling my cup even as the wine I drink,
Becoming the pith of the dream,
Which lies as a pillow beneath each sup-
The urge upon my hand-
The mother, verily!-of each hour;
For tomorrow may not be born-
Save that hope beget her.