Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems

Part Three: Nature 104. The bat is dun with wrinkled wings


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.