Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

41. Confessions 12/31/2002
42. Count Gismond--Aix In Provence 1/1/2004
43. Cristina 5/13/2001
44. De Gustibus--- 5/13/2001
45. Earth's Immortalities 5/13/2001
46. Easter-Day 4/7/2010
47. Englishman In Italy, The 12/31/2002
48. Epilogue 12/31/2002
49. Epilogue To Asolando 1/13/2003
50. Evelyn Hope 5/13/2001
51. Fears And Scruples 4/7/2010
52. Flight Of The Duchess, The 12/31/2002
53. From ‘paracelsus’ 1/1/2004
54. From 'Pauline' 1/1/2004
55. Garden Francies 5/13/2001
56. Glove, The 12/31/2002
57. Guardian-Angel, The 12/31/2002
58. Heap Cassia, Sandal-Buds And Stripes 1/3/2003
59. Heretic's Tragedy, The 12/31/2002
60. Herve Riel 4/7/2010
61. Holy-Cross Day 5/13/2001
62. Home Thoughts, From Abroad 1/13/2003
63. Home Thoughts, From The Sea 1/3/2003
64. How It Strikes a Contemporary 6/8/2015
65. How They Brought The Good News From Ghent To Aix 5/13/2001
66. In A Gondola 5/13/2001
67. In A Year 5/13/2001
68. In Three Days 5/13/2001
69. Incident Of The French Camp 5/13/2001
70. Instans Tyrannus 5/13/2001
71. Introduction: Pippa Passes 4/7/2010
72. Italian In England, The 12/31/2002
73. Laboratory, The 12/31/2002
74. Last Ride Together, The 12/31/2002
75. Life In A Bottle 12/31/2002
76. Life In A Love 4/7/2010
77. Life In A Love 5/13/2001
78. Lost Leader, The 12/31/2002
79. Lost Mistress, The 12/31/2002
80. Love Among The Ruins 5/13/2001
Best Poem of Robert Browning

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 Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
``Fr 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 ...

Read the full of My Last Duchess

Laboratory, The

ANCIEN RGIME.

I.

Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy---
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

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