Now the great winds shorewards blow; Now the salt tides seawards flow; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

-Arnold, Matthew
  The Strayed Reveller, and Other Poems,'The Forsaken Merman', l.4^7.

Rapt, twirling in thy hand a withered spray, And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall.

-Arnold, Matthew
  Poems:  A New Edition,'The Scholar-Gipsy', l.119^20.

And all small fowlys singis on the spray: Welcum the lord of lycht and lamp of day.

-Douglas, Gavin
c.1513  Eneados, bk.12, prologue. English poet.  Only  one  volume  of  his  poems  was  published in his lifetime,  and he was  killed in action  shortly  after  the D-Day landings in Normandy.

And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, This spray of Western pine!

-Harte, (Francis) Bret
  On the death of Charles Dickens.'Dickens in Camp', stanza10.