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Poem of the day
Because I Could Not Stop For Death
by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –
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7 ways the election might turn out
According to the prognosticators at the Washington Post, there are seven possible scenarios. Instead of telling us what will happen, today’s would-be prophets only tell us what might happen.
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Can you spell C-O-R-R-U-P-T-I-O-N?
From the New York Times: “Days before Donald J. Trump became president in 2017, he promised to rein in his company’s freewheeling ways, assuring the American people that his family business would not “take advantage of” his presidency.
“Nearly eight years later, he is making no such promises.
“The former and possibly future president is cashing in on a variety of new ventures as he seeks a second term, without offering to reinstate the guardrails from his first, according to financial filings and interviews with people familiar with his finances.
“The ethics plan Mr. Trump imposed on himself when he was in the White House had limitations and its share of critics, but would prohibit much of this current deal-making.”
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Poem of the day
Triolet
by Robert Bridges (1834-1930)
When first we met we did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master;
Of more than common friendliness
When first we met we did not guess.
Who could foretell this sore distress,
This irretrievable disaster
When first we met? — We did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master.
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Poem of the day
When the Frost is on the Punkin
by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)
When`the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and the gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’; of the guineys and the cluckin’ of the hens
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O it’s then the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s somethin kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here —
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock —
When the frost is on the punkin and fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries — kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A preachin’ sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover overhead! —
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!
I don’t know how to tell it — but if sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me —
I’d want to ’commodate ’em — all the whole-indurin’ flock —
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
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The demise of Chevron bodes ill for many things
The Chevron doctrine, which states that courts should defer to the administrative agencies that administer particular statutes in interpreting those statutes, is a fundamentally conservative doctrine that limits the power of the courts. After all, the administrative agencies have more expertise in the subject matter of particular statutes than the courts. Chevron is a recognition of the Dunning-Kruger effect before Dunning and Kruger. Its abrogation is a power grab by the courts that will lead to much judicial activism and legislating from the bench.
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Poem of the day
Épitaphe
by Paul Scarron (1610-1660)
Celui qui ci maintenant dort
Fit plus de pitié que d’envie,
Et souffrit mille fois la mort
Avant que de perdre la vie.
Passant, ne fais ici de bruit
Garde bien que tu ne l’éveilles :
Car voici la première nuit
Que le pauvre Scarron sommeille.
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Reason 8,949 why immigrants are net benefit
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Poem of the day
To My Dear and Loving Husband
by Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
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