The Lark Ascending

A Lark Singing.

I get asked a lot about how I came up with the name Lark & Bloom. Naming a blog is a very vulnerable thing. You are trying to convey yourself and your point of view in just a few words....plus, you hope it makes people want to read it. I started it right before I left Seattle just about 9 months ago. God was speaking to me about blooming with abandon wherever I am planted. And we all know the phrase "happy as a lark". 


 I loved the idea of the bird in flight being paired with the grounding of a blooming flower. A lark is an inquisitive, adventurous and whimsical bird. A bit spunky in its own right. And well, who doesn't like flowers?


I came across this poem yesterday and absolutely loved it. It was written by George Meredith around 1895. I adore this little lark he wrote about. It is a long poem, so I am only attaching the latter half. I do encourage you look it up and read the whole thing. I wish we took the time to pause and describe things so beautifully. Our attention span is a bit shorter these days I guess.
Enjoy it!

The Lark Ascending by George Meredith

...For singing till his heaven fills,

'T is love of earth that he instils,

And ever winging up and up,

Our valley is his godlen cup,

And he the wine which overflows

To lift us with him as he goes...

...And you shall hear the herb and tree,

The better heart of men shall see,

Shall feel celestially, as long

As you crave nothing save the song.

Was never voice of ours could say

Our inmost in the sweetest way,

Like yonder voice aloft, and link

All hearers in the song they drink:

Our wisdom speaks from failing blood,

Our passion is too full in flood,

We want the key of his wild note

of truthful in a tuneful throat,

The song seraphically free

Of taint of personality,

So pure that it salutes the suns

The voice of one for millions,

In whom the millions rejoice

For giving their one spirit voice.

Yet men have we, whom we revere, 

Now names and men still housing here,

Whose lives, by many a battle-dint

Defaced, and grinding wheels on flint,

Yield substance, though they sing not, sweet

For song our highest heaven to greet:

Whom heavenly singing gives us new,

Enspheres them brilliant in our blue,

From firmest base to farthest leap,

Because their love of Earth is deep,

And they are warriors in accord

With life to serve and pass reward,

So touching purest and so heard

In the brain's reflex of yon bird;

Wherefore their soul in me, or mine, 

Through self-forgetfulness divine,

In them, that song aloft maintains,

To fill the sky and thrill the plains

With showerings drawn from human stores,

As he to silence nearer soars,

Extends the world at wings and dome,

More spacious making more our home,

Till lost on his aerial rings

In light, and then the fancy sings.