XXII. 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.