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: 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 favour 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 pretence
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!

CHRIST God who savest man, save most
Of men Count Gismond who saved me!
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,
Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at length
My honour, 't was with all his strength.

II.

And doubtlessly ere he could draw

All points to one, he must have schemed !

That miserable morning saw

Few half so happy as I seemed,

While being dressed in queen's array

To give our tourney prize away.

III.

I thought they loved me, did me grace
To please themselves; 't was all their deed;
God makes, or fair or foul, our face;

If showing mine so caused to bleed

My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped A word, and straight the play had stopped.

IV.

They, too, so beauteous! Each a queen
By virtue of her brow and breast;
Not needing to be crowned, I mean,

As I do. E'en when I was dressed,
Had either of them spoke, instead
Of glancing sideways with still head !

V.

But no they let me laugh, and sing
My birthday song quite through, adjust
The last rose in my garland, fling

A last look on the mirror, trust
My arms to each an arm of theirs,
And so descend the castle-stairs-