Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

1. Pheidippides 12/10/2015
2. How It Strikes a Contemporary 6/8/2015
3. Tray 5/27/2015
4. The Lady and the Painter 3/1/2016
5. Bad Dreams: III 5/28/2015
6. Bad Dreams: I 5/28/2015
7. Herve Riel 4/7/2010
8. Christmas-Eve 4/7/2010
9. Introduction: Pippa Passes 4/7/2010
10. Heap Cassia, Sandal-Buds And Stripes 1/3/2003
11. Easter-Day 4/7/2010
12. Master Hugues Of Saxe-Gotha 5/13/2001
13. Fears And Scruples 4/7/2010
14. Thus The Mayne Glideth 1/4/2003
15. O' Lyric Love 4/7/2010
16. Cavalier Tunes: Give A Rouse 1/1/2004
17. One Word More 4/7/2010
18. Cavalier Tunes: Boot And Saddle 1/1/2004
19. Song From 'Paracelsus' 1/4/2003
20. Cavalier Tunes: Marching Along 1/1/2004
21. Natural Magic 4/7/2010
22. The Heretic's Tragedy 5/13/2001
23. The Confessional 5/13/2001
24. The Englishman In Italy 5/13/2001
25. The Guardian-Angel 5/13/2001
26. The Italian In England 5/13/2001
27. The Glove 5/13/2001
28. Over The Sea Our Galleys Went 1/1/2004
29. Waring 5/13/2001
30. Cavalier Tunes 5/13/2001
31. Up At A Villa--Down In The City 1/1/2004
32. Holy-Cross Day 5/13/2001
33. In A Gondola 5/13/2001
34. Glove, The 12/31/2002
35. Verse-Making Was Least Of My Virtues 1/3/2003
36. Apparitions 4/7/2010
37. A Tale 4/7/2010
38. Through The Metidja To Abd-El-Kadr 5/13/2001
39. Misconceptions 5/13/2001
40. Respectability 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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