My Last Duchess

• 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 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

  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.
• Oh 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 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,

  Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

  Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!