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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE INEVITABLE by SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON ON A CARRIER WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY [OR, DAFFYDOWNDILLY] by MOTHER GOOSE SONNET: 8 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA BETRAYED by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |