My Last Duchess Ferrara         That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,         Looking as if she were alive.  I call         That piece a wonder, now:  Frà Pandolf’s hands         Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 5      Will ’t please you sit and look at her?  I said         “Frà Pandolf” by design, for never read         Strangers like you that pictured countenance,         The depth and passion of its earnest glance,         But to myself they turned (since none puts by 10    The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)         And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,         How such a glance came there; so, not the first         Are you to turn and ask thus.  Sir, ’twas not         Her husband’s presence only, called that spot 15    Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps         Frà Pandolf chanced to say “Her mantle laps         Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint         Must never hope to reproduce the faint         Half-flush that dies along her throat”:  such stuff 20    Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough         For calling up that spot of joy.  She had         A heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,         Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er         She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.    25   Sir, ’twas all one!  My favor at her breast,         The dropping of the daylight in the West,         The bough of cherries some officious fool         Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule         She rode with round the terrace—all and each 30    Would draw from her alike the approving speech,                         Or blush, at least.  She thanked men—good! but thanked          Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked         My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name         With anybody’s gift.  Who’d stoop to blame 35    This sort of trifling?  Even had you skill         In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will         Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this         Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,         Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let 40    Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set         Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse         —E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose         Never to stoop.  Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt         Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without                        45    Much the same smile?  This grew; I gave commands;         Then all smiles stopped together.  There she stands         As if alive.  Will ’t please you rise?  We’ll meet         The company below, then.  I repeat,         The Count your master’s known munificence 50    Is ample warrant that no just pretense         Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;         Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed         At starting, is my object.  Nay, we’ll go                                                Together down, sir.  Notice Neptune, though, 55    Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity,          Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!                                                                                                                          1842           By Robert Browning

A Map of Ferrara                          Lucrezia de Medici, Duchess to Alphonse II of Ferrara                                                                                          Robert Browning

 
 
     


Fra Pandolf's Hand, Poem 2       My Last Daughter, Poem 3       Interest, Poem 4       Paint, Poem 5       Eternity, Poem 6