Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete · Emily Dickinson
Chapter 22
Chapter 131 of 146 · 1 min read
THE BAT.
The bat is dun with wrinkled wings Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible.
His small umbrella, quaintly halved, Describing in the air An arc alike inscrutable, — Elate philosopher!
Deputed from what firmament Of what astute abode, Empowered with what malevolence Auspiciously withheld.
To his adroit Creator Ascribe no less the praise; Beneficent, believe me, His eccentricities.
