Poems — First Series by Emily Dickinson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Mabel Loomis Todd

The Sky Is Low, the Clouds Are Mean

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.

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