Slacktivism

When at Christmas I long for spring
And vernally I crave the snow
And every little icy thing
That might relieve the heat I know
When too long in Apollo's beams
Or summer labor's furnace blast,
Or Satan's miasmatic steams
Where sweat flows freely, and so fast,
That moderation seems to me
The greatest virtue we may seek
If we would have humanity
Be better tempered when we speak
In outrage of the vast extremes...
Which terminate collective dreams.