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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
Ascribe no less the praise —
Beneficent, believe me,
His Eccentricities —
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