My Last Duchess

My Last Duchess is a poem by Robert Browning (1812-1889).

Related Topics:
Poem - Robert Browning

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It is considered an excellent example of dramatic monologue. Published in "Dramatic Lyrics" in 1842.

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That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,

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Looking as if she were alive. I call

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That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands

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Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

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Will't please you sit and look at her? I said

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"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read

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Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

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The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

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But to myselfthey turned (since none puts by

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The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

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And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

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How such a glance came there; so, not the first

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Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not

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Her husband's presence only, called that spot

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Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps

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Frà Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps

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Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint

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Must never hope to reproduce the faint

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Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff

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Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

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For calling up that spot of joy. She had

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A heart -- how shall I say? -- too soon made glad,

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Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er

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She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

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Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,

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The dropping of the daylight in the West,

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The bough of cherries some officious fool

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Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

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She rode with round the terrace -- all and each

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Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

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Or blush, at least. She thanked men, -- good! but thanked

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Somehow -- I know not how -- as if she ranked

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My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

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With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame

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This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

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In speech -- (which I have not) -- to make your will

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Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this

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Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

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Or there exceed the mark" -- and if she let

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Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

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Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,

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