A Winter Spell

It's winter, and what's worse it's February.
The worst month of the Midwest, I'm convinced. There is no special place in my heart for February, because not only is it frigidly bleak, it's impossible to spell (there are just too many letters in it). This years saving grace has been snow. Winter's beautiful child. I was never quite so enraptured of it until I ran across this poem that showed winter in a fonder light.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 

Robert Frost
New Hampshire
1923

I believe everyone can find some familiarity in the last stanza, famous poems are regularly reduced to a few oft quoted lines. Reading it in it's entirety was nothing short of delightful , it is such a lovely winter poem. I would think having the last name like "Frost" would be too much pressure concerning  writing on winter subjects.

Winter gets a bum rap sometimes as a season because it lacks frills and sunshine. Through Frost's eyes, however, winter personifies the beauty of solitude and silence and secrets.

I am undoubtedly under his spell, and I am content to stay there until spring.