| |
| 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 | 5 |
| “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) | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| 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, ’twas all one! My favor at her breast, | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| 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 | 40 |
| 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; | 45 |
| 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 | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! | |
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