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The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings

The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings
Like fallow Article
And not a song pervade 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 Malignity
Auspiciously withheld

To his adroit Creator
Acribe no less the praise
Beneficent, believe me,
His Eccentricities


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Poem The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings - Emily Dickinson
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