IF I HAD WINGS, MY LADY, LIKE A DOVE—1875
This is one of the most successful results of Stevenson's studies in French verse, and none the less interesting in that it gives indication of the author's intimate knowledge of the seventeenth century English poets. Such sentences as "To kiss the sweet disparting of her hair," and "spend upon her lips my all of breath" bring up memories of Herrick, Marvell and Waller; and the whole argument of what he would do, if he were a dove, is an argument proper to the pages of that quaint and delightful group of English lyric writers.
IF I HAD WINGS, MY LADY, LIKE A DOVE
If I had wings, my lady, like a dove
I should not linger here,
But through the winter air toward my love,
Fly swift toward my love, my fair,
If I had wings, my lady, like a dove.
If I had wings, my lady, like a dove,
And knew the secrets of the air,
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