by James Joyce (1882 - 1941)

Though I thy Mithridates were
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE
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.

About the headline (FAQ)

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , title unknown, copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2008-12-02
Line count: 12
Word count: 69