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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 22
XXII.
THE
BAT.
The
bat
is
dull
with
wrinkled
wings
Like
a
dry
leaf,
And
not
a
song
is
in
his
lips,
Or
none
we
hear.
His
small
umbrella,
half-opened,
Drawing
in
the
air
A
curve
hard
to
understand,
—
Happy
thinker!
Sent
from
what
sky
Of
what
wise
home,
Given
what
power
Kindly
held
back.
To
his
clever
Creator
Give
no
less
the
praise;
Good-hearted,
believe
me,
His
odd
ways.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana