Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson, hitherto unpublished/If I had wings, my lady
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,
I should be gone, my lady, to my love,
To kiss the sweet disparting of her hair,
If I had wings, my lady, like a dove.
If I had wings, my lady, like a dove,
This hour should see my soul at rest,
Should see me safe, my lady, with my love,
To kiss the sweet division of her breast,
If I had wings, my lady, like a dove.
For all is sweet, my lady, in my love;
Sweet hair, sweet breast and sweeter eyes
That draw my soul, my lady, like a dove
Drawn southward by the shining of the skies;
For all is sweet, my lady, in my love.
If I could die, my lady, with my love,
Die, mouth to mouth, a splendid death,
I should take wing, my lady, like a dove,
To spend upon her lips my all of breath,
If I could die, my lady, with my love.