Beclouded

PL

The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.

A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.

First print Nature XXIX, 29
Johnson 1075 | Franklin 1121

LINK TO EMILY DICKINSON, BOOKS

The text is in the public domain worldwide, no rights reserved.
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