Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

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