Yes, Frost may be remembered for his pastoral poems intricately exploring rural perspectives of early 1900s New England, but Frost the man was, in many ways, a dick. Back before he was even remotely famous, he stated, "To be perfectly frank with you I am one of the most notable craftsmen of my time." He sent friends all of his good reviews, demanding that they act his as private PR staff, essentially pulling everyone into his own social media network 70 years before we wished they didn't exist. When one friend chided him for his behavior, Frost spent the next few years spreading rumors this friend was mentally imbalanced.
When a flu-sickened Truman Capote left Frost's poetry reading, Frost took it as an insult and heaved a book at the then-unknown teenage corespondent. Frost held a grudge against Capote from then on, and eventually leveraged his fame to petition The New Yorker into firing him. Frost's biographer saw him as a scumbag who wanted to break up his friends' marriage out of jealousy, even after they graciously allowed him to crash at their house. Even his own children remembered him as the guy who threatened their mom with a murder/suicide ultimatum.
It was generations of reverent English teachers that helped immaculately scrub the poet's rep. He basically now exists as a can of pure Americana concentrate, instead of the far more accurate jar of dickhead bouillon.