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. |
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 |
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, ’t was not |
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot |
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 |
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. |
Sir, ’t was all one! My favour 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 |
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 |
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 |
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. Of sir, she smiled, no doubt, |
Whene’er I passed her ; but who passed without |
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 |
Is ample warrant that no just pretence |
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, |
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, |
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!
|
Robert Browning |
Classic Poems |
|
[ A Toccata of Galuppi's ] [ Epilogue to Asolando ] [ Confessions ] [ Home Thoughts from Abroad ] [ Love among the Ruins ] [ Two in the Campagna ] [ Meeting at Night ] [ Love in a Life ] [ Home Thoughts from the Sea ] [ The Lost Leader ] [ My Last Duchess ] |