He truly is a very stable genius

I would add to this insightful analysis that our brilliant leader has single handedly discovdered the virus’s weakness: it needs a living host and can only infect the living. His suggestion that we all take hydroxychloroquine and inject bleach strikes at this vital weakness and will succeed in curing us of the coronavirus (as well as all other ills). But President Trump gets no credit for this ingenious insight. What more proof do you need that it’s all a liberal plot to deprive him of an election victory in November?

It seems some Americans are confused about President Donald Trump?s extremely strong and very powerful national response to the coronavirus pandemic. That confusion is understandable, as many?

Views: 37

Poem of the day

The Humble-Bee
by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

Burly, dozing humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek;
I will follow thee alone,
Thou animated torrid-zone!
Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines;
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.

Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion!
Sailor of the atmosphere;
Swimmer through the waves of air;
Voyager of light and noon;
Epicurean of June;
Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within earshot of thy hum,—
All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days,
With a net of shining haze
Silvers the horizon wall,
And with softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance
With a color of romance,
And infusing subtle heats,
Turns the sod to violets,
Thou, in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
The green silence dost displace
With thy mellow, breezy bass.

Hot midsummer’s petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
Tells of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers;
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found;
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.

Aught unsavory or unclean
Hath my insect never seen;
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple-sap and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongue
And brier-roses, dwelt among;
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.

Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher!
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

Views: 31

Game of the week

Views: 35

Poem of the day

Ambassadors of God
by Charles Wesley (1707-1788)

God, the offended God most high,
Ambassadors to rebels sends;
His messengers His place supply,
And Jesus begs us to be friends.

Us, in the stead of Christ, they pray,
Us, in the stead of God, entreat,
To cast our arms, our sins, away,
And find forgiveness at His feet.

Our God in Christ! Thine embassy,
And proffered mercy, we embrace;
And gladly reconciled to Thee,
Thy condescending goodness praise.

Poor debtors, by our Lord’s request
A full acquittance we receive!
And criminals, with pardon blessed,
We, at our Judge’s instance, live!

Views: 53

Lesson from the past

From the NYT: “But America’s experience with polio should give us pause, not hope. The first effective polio vaccine followed decades of research and testing. Once fully tested, it was approved with record speed. Then there were life-threatening manufacturing problems. Distribution problems followed. Political fights broke out. After several years, enough Americans were vaccinated that cases plummeted — but they persisted in poor communities for over a decade. Polio’s full story should make us wary of promises that we will soon have the coronavirus under control with a vaccine. …

“Granted, there are countless differences between the fight against the coronavirus and the long-ago fight against polio. The global capacity for vaccine research and development is far greater than it was in the 1950s. Drug approval and manufacturing safety protocols have been refined since then, too. Already, just months into the current pandemic, there are far more vaccines in development against the coronavirus than there ever were against polio.”

Views: 53

Poem of the day

Alla Musa
by Giuseppe Parini (1729-1799)

Te il mercadante, che con ciglio asciutto
Fugge i figli e la moglie ovunque il chiama
Dura avarizia, nel remoto flutto,
               Musa, non ama.

Nè quei, cui l’alma ambizïosa rode
Fulgida cura; onde salir più agogna;
E la molto fra il dì temuta frode
               Torbido sogna.

Nè giovane, che pari a tauro irrompa
Ove a la cieca più Venere piace:
Nè donna, che d’amanti osi gran pompa
               Spiegar procace.

Sai tu, vergine dea, chi la parola
Modulata da te gusta od imita;
Onde ingenuo piacer sgorga, e consola
               L’umana vita?

Colui, cui diede il ciel placido senso
E puri affetti e semplice costume;
Che di sè pago e dell’avito censo
               Più non presume.

Che spesso al faticoso ozio de’ grandi
E all’urbano clamor s’invola, e vive
Ove spande natura influssi blandi
               O in colli o in rive.

E in stuol d’amici numerato e casto,
Tra parco e delicato al desco asside;
E la splendida turba e il vano fasto
               Lieto deride.

Che a i buoni, ovunque sia, dona favore;
E cerca il vero; e il bello ama innocente;
E passa l’età sua tranquilla, il core
               Sano e la mente.

Dunque perchè quella sì grata un giorno
Del Giovin, cui diè nome il dio di Delo,
Cetra si tace; e le fa lenta intorno
               Polvere velo?

Ben mi sovvien quando, modesto il ciglio,
Ei già scendendo a me giudice fea
Me de’ suoi carmi: e a me chiedea consiglio:
               E lode avea.

Ma or non più. Chi sa? Simile a rosa
Tutta fresca e vermiglia al sol, che nasce,
Tutto forse di lui l’eletta Sposa
               L’animo pasce.

E di bellezza, di virtù, di raro
Amor, di grazie, di pudor natìo
L’occupa sì, ch’ei cede ogni già caro
               Studio all’oblìo.

Musa, mentr’ella il vago crine annoda
A lei t’appressa; e con vezzoso dito
A lei premi l’orecchio; e dille: e t’oda.
               Anco il marito.

Giovinetta crudel, perchè mi togli
Tutto il mio d’Adda, e di mie cure il pregio,
E la speme concetta, e i dolci orgogli
               D’alunno egregio?

Costui di me, de’ genj miei si accese
Pria che di te. Codeste forme infanti
Erano ancor, quando vaghezza il prese
               De’ nostri canti.

Ei t’era ignoto ancor quando a me piacque.
Io di mia man per l’ombra, e per la lieve
Aura de’ lauri l’avviai ver l’acque,
               Che al par di neve

Bianche le spume, scaturir dall’alto
Fece Aganippe il bel destrier, che ha l’ale:
Onde chi beve io tra i celesti esalto
               E fo immortale.

Io con le nostre il volsi arti divine
Al decente, al gentile, al raro, al bello:
Fin che tu stessa gli apparisti al fine
               Caro modello.

E, se nobil per lui fiamma fu desta
Nel tuo petto non conscio: e s’ei nodrìa
Nobil fiamma per te, sol opra è questa
               Del cielo e mia.

Ecco già l’ale il nono mese or scioglie
Da che sua fosti, e già, deh ti sia salvo,
Te chiaramente in fra le madri accoglie
               Il giovin alvo.

Lascia che a me solo un momento ei torni;
E novo entro al tuo cor sorgere affetto,
E novo sentirai da i versi adorni
               Piover diletto.

Però ch’io stessa, il gomito posando
Di tua seggiola al dorso, a lui col suono
De la soave andrò tibia spirando
               Facile tono.

Onde rapito, ei canterà che sposo
Già felice il rendesti, e amante amato;
E tosto il renderai dal grembo ascoso
               Padre beato.

Scenderà in tanto dall’eterea mole
Giuno, che i preghi de le incinte ascolta.
E vergin io de la Memoria prole 95
               Nel velo avvolta

Uscirò co’ bei carmi; e andrò gentile
Dono a farne al Parini, Italo cigno,
Che a i buoni amico, alto disdegna il vile
               Volgo maligno.

Views: 58

Poem of the day

Delfica
by Gérard de Nerval (1808-1855)

La connais-tu, Dafné, cette ancienne romance,
Au pied du sycomore, ou sous les lauriers blancs,
Sous l’olivier, le myrte, ou les saules tremblants,
Cette chanson d’amour qui toujours recommence?…

Reconnais-tu le Temple au péristyle immense,
Et les citrons amers où s’imprimaient tes dents,
Et la grotte, fatale aux hôtes imprudents,
Où du dragon vaincu dort l’antique semence?…

Ils reviendront, ces Dieux que tu pleures toujours!
Le temps va ramener l’ordre des anciens jours ;
La terre a tressailli d’un souffle prophétique…

Cependant la sibylle au visage latin
Est endormie encor sous l’arc de Constantin
— Et rien n’a dérangé le sévère portique.

Views: 42