Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

81. Man I Am And Man Would Be, Love 1/3/2003
82. Master Hugues Of Saxe-Gotha 5/13/2001
83. Meeting At Night 5/13/2001
84. Memorabilia 5/13/2001
85. Mesmerism 5/13/2001
86. Misconceptions 5/13/2001
87. My Last Duchess 5/13/2001
88. My Star 5/13/2001
89. Nationality In Drinks 5/13/2001
90. Natural Magic 4/7/2010
91. Never The Time And The Place 12/31/2002
92. Now! 12/31/2002
93. O' Lyric Love 4/7/2010
94. Old Pictures In Florence 5/13/2001
95. One Way Of Love 5/13/2001
96. One Word More 4/7/2010
97. Over The Sea Our Galleys Went 1/1/2004
98. Overhead The Tree-Tops Meet 1/3/2003
99. Pan And Luna 1/3/2003
100. Parting At Morning 5/13/2001
101. Patriot, The 12/31/2002
102. Pheidippides 12/10/2015
103. Pied Piper Of Hamelin, The 12/31/2002
104. Pippa's Song 12/31/2002
105. Popularity 5/13/2001
106. Porphyria's Lover 5/13/2001
107. Prospice 12/31/2002
108. Rabbi Ben Ezra 5/13/2001
109. Respectability 5/13/2001
110. Saul 5/13/2001
111. Soliloquy Of The Spanish Cloister 5/13/2001
112. Song 5/13/2001
113. Song From 'Paracelsus' 1/4/2003
114. Summum Bonum 12/31/2002
115. The Boy And The Angel 5/13/2001
116. The Confessional 5/13/2001
117. The Englishman In Italy 5/13/2001
118. The Flight Of The Duchess 5/13/2001
119. The Glove 5/13/2001
120. The Guardian-Angel 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

Italian In England, The

That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side,
Breathed hot and instant on my trace,---
I made six days a hiding-place
Of that dry green old aqueduct
Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked
The fire-flies from the roof above,

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