Folded in like a dark thought For which the language is lost, Tuscan cypresses, Is there a great secret? Are our words no good? The undeliverable secret, Dead with a dead race and a dead speech, and yet Darkly monumental in you, Etruscan cypresses. (D. H. Lawrence, extract from ‘Cypresses’, 1920-23) In April 1927, three years before his death in 1930, D. H.