Why do I love bats? Well, why do you breathe?

See on your streets a fair and beautiful city,

Wherein I may sing of a myriad glory,

As I gaze upon them at each golden hour;

Away from my eye in the everlasting light.

As the queen that comes with a terrible smile,

Already with a strong and indelible grace

May rejoice in our hope of the golden place;

For amid the yearning and the yearning of heart,

May rejoice in our light as the golden light;

Deep in that hour of glad discord and gladness

Rome at our earnest signal, that innocent child

Clear and pure from its tenderness inquisition;

As I saw their simple whiteness at the greeting

As I gaze upon them in a mournful mansion;

Or, like the vision of a funeral pyre,

Without a weary longing to pause at the gloom?

Unless long years since thy weariness forgotten,

Old heroic hate of every other age.

Even as the queen that changes every breath,

Which flows from every bright and beautiful light.

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