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Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson

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.

#AmericanWriters

Other works by Emily Dickinson...
I Reason, Earth Is Short

301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
He found my Being—set it up—

603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
When Memory is full

When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
Time CXXVIII. I heard a fly buzz when I died (465)

CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.
 3
Life XVII. When night is almost done (347)

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair
Again—his voice is at the door—

663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
 1
Not Sickness stains the Brave,

Not Sickness stains the Brave, Nor any Dart, Nor Doubt of Scene to come, But an adjourning Heart -
 1
613 They shut me up in Prose —

They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
 3
Ourselves Were Wed One Summer dear

631 Ourselves were wed one summer—dear… Your Vision—was in June— And when Your little Lifetime fai… I wearied—too—of mine—
A Single Screw of Flesh

263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—
To This World She Returned

830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
The Hills in Purple syllables

The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.
 1
As If Some Little Arctic Flower

180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
 1
A Bird Came Down

A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
 1
How Many Flowers Fail in Wood

404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
 1



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