My Last Duchess Poem is a warning-this is what happened to
BY ROBERT BROWNING the Last Duchess, and it can happen to the
FERRARA next, place in Italy, duke showing off his art,
treating his Duchess like an object
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Portrait symbolises the Duke’s possessive
Looking as if she were alive. I call and controlling nature. Pronoun symbolises
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s ownership. She is now dead.
hands Did not intend on killing her
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra 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 He is the only one to look at her, controlling
by and possessive.
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 Looks flirtatious
first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not Flirting with the artist
Her husband’s presence only, called that
spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle Trying to recall and recreate the
laps conversation between her and artist
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
BY ROBERT BROWNING the Last Duchess, and it can happen to the
FERRARA next, place in Italy, duke showing off his art,
treating his Duchess like an object
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Portrait symbolises the Duke’s possessive
Looking as if she were alive. I call and controlling nature. Pronoun symbolises
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s ownership. She is now dead.
hands Did not intend on killing her
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra 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 He is the only one to look at her, controlling
by and possessive.
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 Looks flirtatious
first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not Flirting with the artist
Her husband’s presence only, called that
spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle Trying to recall and recreate the
laps conversation between her and artist
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
