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 and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not

Her husband's presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps

Fr 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.