Beclouded

From ImmortalPoetry
Jump to navigationJump to search
XXIX. BECLOUDED.

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.


 
from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)

Add your comment
ImmortalPoetry welcomes all comments. If you do not want to be anonymous, register or log in. It is free.