Here is a lovely poem for the day by Robert Southey (1774 - 1843). He was one of the Lake poets and was Poet Laureate from 1813. He sees the beauty of Winter in the roaring fires and festive cheer.
A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee,
Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey
As the long moss upon the apple tree,
Blue-lipt, an ice drop at thy sharp blue nose,
Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.
They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth,
Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair;
Watching the children at their Christmas mirth,-
Or circled by them as thy lips declare.
Some merry jest, or tale of murder dire,
Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night,
Pausing at times to rouse the smouldering fire,
Or taste the old October brown and bright.