My Last Duke.

That's my last Duke painted on the wall
Looking as if he were alive, I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frá Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there he stands.
Will 't please you sit and look at him? I said
"Frá 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 and ask thus. Lady, 'twas not
Her wife's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duke's cheek: perhaps
Frá Pandolf chanced to say: "His mantle laps
Over my Sir's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along his throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, he thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. He had
A heart - how shall I say? - too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; he liked whate'er
He looked on, and his looks were everywhere.
Lady, 'twas all one! My favor at his breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for him, the white mule
He rode with round the terrace - all and each
Would draw from his alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. He thanked women - good! but thanked
Somehow - I know not how - as if he ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred -years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech - (which you have not) - to make my will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me: here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark" - and if he let
Himself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
His wits to yours, forsoouth, and made excuse
- E'en then would be some stooping: and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh,lady, he smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed him, but who passed without
Much the same smile? This gre; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There he stands
As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below then. I repeat,
The Count your Misstrees' known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though her fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, lady. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!