My Last Duchess

(since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) (9-10)

never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned . . .
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst...

I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf’s hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. (2-4)

THAT’S my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. (1-2)

Sir, ’twas not
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek (13-15)