The Sky Is Low, The Clouds Are Mean,

Emily Dickinson

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.

Next 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : The Smouldering Embers Blush-
• Emily Dickinson : The Snow That Never Drifts-
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul Has Bandaged Moments
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul Selects Her Own Society
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul That Hath A Guest
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul Unto Itself
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul's Distinct Connection
• Emily Dickinson : The Soul's Superior Instants
• Emily Dickinson : The Spider As An Artist

Previous 10 Poems

• Emily Dickinson : The Skies Can't Keep Their Secret!
• Emily Dickinson : The Show Is Not The Show,
• Emily Dickinson : The Service Without Hope
• Emily Dickinson : The Sea Said 'come' To The Brook-
• Emily Dickinson : The Savior Must Have Been
• Emily Dickinson : The Saddest Noise, The Sweetest Noise
• Emily Dickinson : The Rose Did Caper On Her Cheek
• Emily Dickinson : The Robin's My Criterion For Tune
• Emily Dickinson : The Robin Is The One
• Emily Dickinson : The Robin Is A Gabriel