{"id":475,"date":"2010-07-06T07:58:53","date_gmt":"2010-07-05T19:58:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/?p=475"},"modified":"2010-07-07T08:34:56","modified_gmt":"2010-07-06T20:34:56","slug":"tuesday-poem-my-last-duchess-by-robert-browning","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/2010\/07\/06\/tuesday-poem-my-last-duchess-by-robert-browning\/","title":{"rendered":"Tuesday Poem: “My Last Duchess” by Robert Browning"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

My Last Duchess<\/h3>\n<\/div>\n

FERRARA<\/p>\n

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
\nLooking as if she were alive. I call
\nThat piece a wonder, now: Fr\u00e0 Pandolf’s hands
\nWorked busily a day, and there she stands.
\nWill ‘t please you sit and look at her? I said
\n“Fr\u00e0 Pandolf” by design, for never read
\nStrangers like you that pictured countenance,
\nThe depth and passion of its earnest glance,
\nBut to myself they turned (since none puts by
\nThe curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
\nAnd seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
\nHow such a glance came there; so, not the first
\nAre you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
\nHer husband’s presence only, called that spot
\nOf joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps
\nFr\u00e0 Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps
\nOver my Lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
\nMust never hope to reproduce the faint
\nHalf-flush that dies along her throat”; such stuff
\nWas courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
\nFor calling up that spot of joy. She had
\nA heart . . . how shall I say? . . . too soon made glad,
\nToo easily impressed; she liked whate’er
\nShe looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
\nSir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
\nThe dropping of the daylight in the West,
\nThe bough of cherries some officious fool
\nBroke in the orchard for her, the white mule
\nShe rode with round the terrace\u2014all and each
\nWould draw from her alike the approving speech,
\nOr blush, at least. She thanked men\u2014good; but thanked
\nSomehow . . . I know not how . . . as if she ranked
\nMy gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
\nWith anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame
\nThis sort of trifling? Even had you skill
\nIn speech\u2014(which I have not)\u2014to make your will
\nQuite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
\nOr that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
\nOr there exceed the mark”\u2014and if she let
\nHerself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
\nHer wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
\n\u2014E’en then would be some stooping; and I chuse
\nNever to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
\nWhene’er I passed her; but who passed without
\nMuch the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
\nThen all smiles stopped together. There she stands
\nAs if alive. Will ‘t please you rise? We’ll meet
\nThe company below, then. I repeat,
\nThe Count your Master’s known munificence
\nIs ample warrant that no just pretence
\nOf mine for dowry will be disallowed;
\nThough his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
\nAt starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
\nTogether down, Sir! Notice Neptune, though,
\nTaming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
\nWhich Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me.<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

Robert Browning, 1812-1889<\/p>\n

First published in Dramatic Lyrics, 1842; given its present title in 1849 (Dramatic Romances and Lyrics).
\nThis version obtained from the University of Toronto’s Library of Representative Poetry Online.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

—<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I have always enjoyed this poem, both because I love story and this is a fine example of a narrative poem, i.e. one that tells a story, but also of dramatic monologue, where the character of the Duke and his relationship to his last<\/em> Duchess are subtly expanded through the length of the poem. And by the way, something I rarely notice because it’s almost invisible in reading the poem (i.e. no “bo-bounce”), but the poem is written in rhyming couplets while still managing to sound like conversational speech: masterly!<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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: Fr\u00e0 Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will ‘t please you sit and look at her? I said “Fr\u00e0 Pandolf” by design, for never read Strangers […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-475","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/475","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=475"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/475\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":506,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/475\/revisions\/506"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=475"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=475"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=475"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}