Poems (Dickinson)/Beclouded

by Emily Dickinson

For other versions of this work, see The Sky is low—the Clouds are mean.

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.