Robert Browning

(1812-1889 / London / England)

Robert Browning Poems

81. Master Hugues Of Saxe-Gotha 5/13/2001
82. Meeting At Night 5/13/2001
83. Memorabilia 5/13/2001
84. Mesmerism 5/13/2001
85. Misconceptions 5/13/2001
86. My Last Duchess 5/13/2001
87. My Star 5/13/2001
88. Nationality In Drinks 5/13/2001
89. Natural Magic 4/7/2010
90. Never The Time And The Place 12/31/2002
91. Now! 12/31/2002
92. O' Lyric Love 4/7/2010
93. Old Pictures In Florence 5/13/2001
94. One Way Of Love 5/13/2001
95. One Word More 4/7/2010
96. Over The Sea Our Galleys Went 1/1/2004
97. Overhead The Tree-Tops Meet 1/3/2003
98. Pan And Luna 1/3/2003
99. Parting At Morning 5/13/2001
100. Patriot, The 12/31/2002
101. Pied Piper Of Hamelin, The 12/31/2002
102. Pippa's Song 12/31/2002
103. Popularity 5/13/2001
104. Porphyria's Lover 5/13/2001
105. Prospice 12/31/2002
106. Rabbi Ben Ezra 5/13/2001
107. Respectability 5/13/2001
108. Saul 5/13/2001
109. Soliloquy Of The Spanish Cloister 5/13/2001
110. Song 5/13/2001
111. Song From 'Paracelsus' 1/4/2003
112. Summum Bonum 12/31/2002
113. The Bishop Orders His Tomb 1/3/2003
114. The Bishop Orders His Tomb At Ssaint Praxed's Church, Rome 5/13/2001
115. The Boy And The Angel 5/13/2001
116. The Confessional 5/13/2001
117. The Englishman In Italy 5/13/2001
118. The Flight Of The Duchess 5/13/2001
119. The Glove 5/13/2001
120. The Guardian-Angel 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

Laboratory, The

ANCIEN RGIME.

I.

Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy---
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

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