James Joyce

(2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941 / Dublin / Ireland)

Though I Thy Mithridates Were - Poem by James Joyce

Though I thy Mithridates were,
Framed to defy the poison-dart,
Yet must thou fold me unaware
To know the rapture of thy heart,
And I but render and confess
The malice of thy tenderness.

For elegant and antique phrase,
Dearest, my lips wax all too wise;
Nor have I known a love whose praise
Our piping poets solemnize,
Neither a love where may not be
Ever so little falsity.


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Read poems about / on: heart, love



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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