SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
Only, in the bright day, I will not have this clot in
my room.
Let the God who is maker of bats watch with them
in their unclean corners.........
I admit a God in every crevice, 121
But not bats in my room;
Nor the God of bats, while the sun shines.
So out, out, you brute!............
And he lunged, flight-heavy, away from me, sideways,
a sghembo!
And round and round and round my room, a clot with
wings,
Impure even in weariness. 127
Wings dark skinny and flapping the air,
Lost their flicker.
Spent. 130
He fell again with a little thud
Near the curtain on the floor,
And there lay.
Ah death, death
You are no solution ! 135
Bats must be bats.
Only life has a way out.
And the human soul is fated to wide-eyed responsibility
In life.
So I picked him up in a flannel jacket, 140
Well covered, lest he should bite me.
352