Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

121. In Three Days 5/13/2001
122. Before 5/13/2001
123. Another Way Of Love 5/13/2001
124. Andrea Del Sarto 12/31/2002
125. The Patriot 5/13/2001
126. Bishop Blougram's Apology 1/1/2004
127. Why I Am A Liberal 1/3/2003
128. A Wall 4/7/2010
129. Love In A Life 5/13/2001
130. The Pied Piper Of Hamelin 5/13/2001
131. A Grammarian's Funeral Shortly After The Revival Of Learnin 1/1/2004
132. Any Wife To Any Husband 5/13/2001
133. Women And Roses 5/13/2001
134. Life In A Bottle 12/31/2002
135. Home Thoughts, From Abroad 1/13/2003
136. Meeting At Night 5/13/2001
137. By The Fire-Side 5/13/2001
138. Evelyn Hope 5/13/2001
139. A Lovers' Quarrel 5/13/2001
140. A Light Woman 5/13/2001
141. Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came 5/13/2001
142. Porphyria's Lover 5/13/2001
143. After 5/13/2001
144. A Pretty Woman 5/13/2001
145. Life In A Love 5/13/2001
146. A Woman's Last Word 5/13/2001
147. My Last Duchess 5/13/2001

Comments about Robert Browning

  • Amy Klootwyk (2/28/2007 3:43:00 PM)

    Robert Browning is such a beautiful poet- poetry never interested me until I read 'My Last Duchess' and 'Porphyria's Lover'.

    56 person liked.
    60 person did not like.
Best Poem of Robert Browning

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: 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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