942
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?
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- Life—is What We Make Of It
- On This Long Storm The Rainbow Rose
- There Is A Flower That Bees Prefer
- Unfulfilled To Observation
- To Offer Brave Assistance