I fill this cup to one made upOf loveliness alone,A woman, of her gentle sexThe seeming paragon;To whom the better elementsAnd kindly stars have givenA 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 melodyDwells ever in her words.Edward Coote Pinkney
Look out upon the stars, my love,And shame them with thine eyes.Edward Coote Pinkney
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.Edward Coote Pinkney
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.Edward Coote Pinkney