The Sense of Snow

I tried to find the art I'd like to tell you now, or may be some pieces of architecture, but in vain.
I got my visa and lot of work.
But Jesus, why am I so smitten now?..

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

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 the 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.

I give blood to jump now into a fluffy snowhill, ooh