(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)


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.

by Emily Dickinson

Comments (2)

.......dear poemhunter, this is the exact same poem as the one listed titled, the sky is low, the clouds are mean ★
Such vivid imagery. I love it.