Читать книгу THE JAMES JOYCE COLLECTION - 5 Books in One Edition - James Joyce, James Joyce - Страница 30

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.