“Shall I not see that to live is to have relinquished
beauty to the sequestration of the dark,
and yet that the spirit of man, benighted, vanquished,
has folded wings, and shall use them as the lark
into the sun beyond the cold clouds flinging
her desperate hope, not reaching where she has striven
but soaring for ever beyond herself, and singing
high above earth as she is low in heaven?
Shall I not confess that mine own evil humour
and not man’s failure forged this black despair,
and while I wept, high up the golden rumour
of a lark ascending fringed the quiet air?”
Humbert Wolfe, Uncelestial City
Sculpture by Rex Homan
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