Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Winter I admonish Thee
Blanket Wealthier the Neighbor We so new bestow Than thine acclimated Creature Wilt Thou, Austere Snow?
Emily Dickinson’s speaker turns to the falling snow and scolds it, softly but pointedly. She notices how some who have “never lay” before—perhaps the newly dead, or just fresh arrivals to the wintry ground—are settling into their first deep rest of the season. And she admonishes the snow for it.
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