mass protest is not the right way to oppose fascism. the right way to oppose fascism is to shake your head and say “no thank you” whenever a fascist offers you some fascism

the hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
to feel the earth as rough
to all my length.

Now no joy but lacks salt,
that is not dashed with pain
and weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

of tears, the aftermark
of almost too much love,
the sweet of bitter bark
and burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
from leaning on it hard
in grass or sand,

I had the swirl and ache
from sprays of honeysuckle
that when they’re gathered shake
dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
seemed strong when I was young:
the petal of the rose
it was that stung.

Robert Frost: "To Earthward"

Love at the lips was touch
as sweet as I could bear;
and once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

that crossed me from sweet things,
the flow of — was it musk
from hidden grapevine springs
downhill at dusk?

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

There lives a lass beside yon park,
i’d rather hae her in her sark,
than you wi’ a’ your thousand mark;
that gars you look sae high.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak’ my advice:
your daddie’s gear maks you sae nice;
the deil a ane wad speir your price,
were ye as poor as I.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

But, if he hae the name o’ gear,
ye’ll fasten to him like a brier,
tho’ hardly he, for sense or lear,
be better than the kye.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

Altho’ a lad were e’er sae smart,
if that he want the yellow dirt,
ye’ll cast your head anither airt,
and answer him fu’ dry.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

But sorrow tak’ him that’s sae mean,
altho’ his pouch o’ coin were clean,
wha follows ony saucy quean,
that looks sae proud and high.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
because ye hae the name o’ clink,
that ye can please me at a wink,
whene’er ye like to try.

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

When coming hame on Sunday last,
upon the road as I cam past,
ye snufft and ga’e your head a cast—
but trowth I care’t na by.

Robert Burns: "Song—O Tibbie I hae seen the day"

—O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
ye wadna been sae shy;
for laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
but, trowth, I care na by.

Yesteeen I met you on the moor,
ye spak na, but gaed by like stour;
ye geck at me because I’m poor,
but fient a hair care I.

William Shakespeare: Sonnet 123

Sir Philip Sidney: Astrophel and Stella 033

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

—in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

e.e. cummings: "i have found what you are like"

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

George Meredith: "Modern Love" 04

Robert Herrick: "Upon Love. (VI)"

George Darley: "The Mermaidens' Vesper Hymn"

George Gordon, Lord Byron: "Don Juan: Canto 15"

and I saw it filled with graves,
and tomb-stones where flowers should be:
and Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
and binding with briars, my joys & desires.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
and “Thou Shalt Not”, writ over the door;
so I turn’d to the Garden of Love,
that so many sweet flowers bore,

William Blake, "The Garden of Love"

I went to the Garden of Love.
And saw what I never had seen:
a Chapel was built in the midst,
where I used to play on the green.

Amy Lowell: "Madonna of the Evening Flowers"

George Meredith: "Dirge in Woods"

I saw in secret to my Dame,
how little Cupid humbly came:
and sayd to her All hayle, my mother.
But when he saw me laugh, for shame:
his face with bashfull blood did flame,
not knowing Venus from the other,
then neuer blush Cupid (quoth I),
for many haue err’d in this beauty.

As Diane hunted on a day,
she chaunst to come where Cupid lay,
his quiuer by his head:
one of his shafts she stole away,
and one of hers did close conuay,
into the others stead:
with that loue wounded my loues hart,
but Diane beasts with Cupids dart.