Skip to content

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.

— Edward Coote Pinkney Italy (1825)

Another quote →

More quotes by Edward Coote Pinkney

Her every tone is music's own,
Like those of morning birds,
And something more than melody
Dwells ever in her words.

Look out upon the stars, my love,
And shame them with thine eyes.

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.

Affections are as thoughts to her, the measure of her hours;
Her feelings have the fragrancy, the freshness, of young flowers;
And lonely passions, changing oft, so fill her, she appears
The image of themselves by turns,—the idol of past years!

All Edward Coote Pinkney quotes →

Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Edward Coote Pinkney (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.