The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings —
by Emily Dickinson (1830–1886) English
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 —
Source: Wikisource
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More poems by Emily Dickinson
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Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— …
-
There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance — …
-
A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The lady dare not lift her veil …
-
There came a Wind like a Bugle —
It quivered through the Grass
And a Green Chill upon the Heat …
All poems by Emily Dickinson → · More English poems →