Edward Coote Pinkney

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Edward Coote Pinkney (October 1, 1802April 11, 1828) was an American poet, lawyer, sailor, professor, and editor.


  • I fill this cup to one made up
    Of loveliness alone,
    A woman, of her gentle sex
    The seeming paragon;
    To whom the better elements
    And kindly stars have given
    A form so fair, that, like the air,
    'Tis less of earth than heaven.
    • A Health, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • Her every tone is music's own,
    Like those of morning birds,
    And something more than melody
    Dwells ever in her words.
    • A Health, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • Look out upon the stars, my love,
    And shame them with thine eyes.
    • A Serenade, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • The sportive hopes that used to chase their shifting shadows on,
    Like children playing in the sun, are gone—for ever gone;
    And on a careless, sullen peace, my double-fronted mind,
    Like Janus, when his gates are shut, looks forward and behind.

    Apollo placed his harp, of old, awhile upon a stone,
    Which has resounded since, when struck, a breaking harp string's tone;
    And thus my heart, though wholly now from early softness free,
    If touch'd, will yield the music yet, it first received of thee.

    • A Picture Song.
  • The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud;
    The air seems never to have borne a cloud,
    Save where volcanoes send to heav'n their curl'd
    And solemn smokes, like altars of the world.
    • Italy (1825).

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