Beclouded

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)
Autumn	The Hemlock

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