Poem of the day

Scorn Not the Sonnet
by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch’s wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens soothed an exile’s grief;
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains–alas, too few!

Poem of the day

Ode
by Jean-Baptiste Rousseau (1671-1741)

Pourquoi, plaintive Philomèle,
Songer encore à vos malheurs,
Quand, pour apaiser vos douleurs,
Tout cherche à vous marquer son zèle?
L’univers, à votre retour,
Semble renaître pour vous plaire;
Les Dryades à votre amour
Prêtent leur ombre solitaire.
Loin de vous l’aquilon fougueux
Souffle sa piquante froidure;
La terre reprend sa verdure;
Le ciel brille des plus beaux feux:
Pour vous l’amante de Céphale
Enrichit Flore de ses pleurs;
Le zéphyr cueille sur les fleurs
Les parfums que la terre exhale.

Pour entendre vos doux accents
Les oiseaux cessent leur ramage;
Et le chasseur le plus sauvage
Respecte vos jours innocents.
Cependant votre âme, attendrie
Par un douloureux souvenir,
Des malheurs d’une sœur chérie
Semble toujours s’entretenir.
Hélas! que mes tristes pensées
M’offrent des maux bien plus cuisants!
Vous pleurez des peines passées;
Je pleure des ennuis présents;
Et quand la Nature attentive
Cherche à calmer vos déplaisirs,
Il faut même que je me prive
De la douceur de mes soupirs.

Game of the week

Poem of the day

Erotion
by Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)

Sweet for a little even to fear, and sweet,
O love, to lay down fear at love’s fair feet;
Shall not some fiery memory of his breath
Lie sweet on lips that touch the lips of death?
Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free;
Love me no more, but love my love of thee.
Love where thou wilt, and live thy life; and I,
One thing I can, and one love cannot—die.
Pass from me; yet thine arms, thine eyes, thine hair,
Feed my desire and deaden my despair.
Yet once more ere time change us, ere my cheek
Whiten, ere hope be dumb or sorrow speak,
Yet once more ere thou hate me, one full kiss;
Keep other hours for others, save me this.
Yea, and I will not (if it please thee) weep,
Lest thou be sad; I will but sigh, and sleep.
Sweet, does death hurt? thou canst not do me wrong:
I shall not lack thee, as I loved thee, long.
Hast thou not given me above all that live
Joy, and a little sorrow shalt not give?
What even though fairer fingers of strange girls
Pass nestling through thy beautiful boy’s curls
As mine did, or those curled lithe lips of thine
Meet theirs as these, all theirs come after mine;
And though I were not, though I be not, best,
I have loved and love thee more than all the rest.
O love, O lover, loose or hold me fast,
I had thee first, whoever have thee last;
Fairer or not, what need I know, what care?
To thy fair bud my blossom once seemed fair.
Why am I fair at all before thee, why
At all desired? seeing thou art fair, not I.
I shall be glad of thee, O fairest head,
Alive, alone, without thee, with thee, dead;
I shall remember while the light lives yet,
And in the night-time I shall not forget.
Though (as thou wilt) thou leave me ere life leave,
I will not, for thy love I will not, grieve;
Not as they use who love not more than I,
Who love not as I love thee though I die;
And though thy lips, once mine, be oftener prest
To many another brow and balmier breast,
And sweeter arms, or sweeter to thy mind,
Lull thee or lure, more fond thou wilt not find.

Poem of the day

Le Main
by Remy de Gourmont(1858-1915)

Main qui chantais, main qui parlais,
Main qui étais comme une personne,
Main amoureuse qui savais
Comment on prend, comment on donne;

Main sur laquelle on a pleuré
Comme d’une fontaine fraîche,
Main sur laquelle on a crié
D’amour, de joie ou de détresse;

Main qui reçus les confidences
Que la peur fait à la volupté,
Main de calme et d’impatience,
Main de grâce et de volupté;

Main que des dents ont mordue
Et que des ongles ont déchirée
Dans leur frénésie ingénue,
Main que des lèvres ont pansée;

Main des rêves, main des caressses,
Main des frissons, main des tendresses,
Main de la ruse et de l’adresse,
O main, maîtresse des maîtresses;

Main qui donnas tant de joies
A tant de chairs éperdues,
O main comme de la soie
Sur les belles poitrines nues;

Ô main, toi qui avais une âme
Pour l’heure douce du désir,
Et qui avais encore une âme
A l’heure âpre du plaisir,

Ô main, tu trembles encore aux souvenirs charnels !
Afin que tu éprouves des tendresses nouvelles,
Je te donne à l’amie qui régit mon destin :
Ses yeux sont des fleurs vives, ses cheveux sont des ailes,
Son esprit se promène, songeur et incertain.

Sois sage, ô main trop tendre, et cache le passé
Sous tes ongles, aux replis secrets de tes jointures,
Comme je cache au fond de mon vieux cœur blessé
Le souvenir sacré de belles meurtrissures.

Ô main, je te regarde avec mélancolie.

Poem of the day

Virtue
by George Herbert (1593-1633)

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight,
         For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;
Thy root is ever in its grave,
         And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie;
My music shows ye have your closes,
         And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
         Then chiefly lives.

Poem of the day

Lebenslust
by Johamn Wilhelm Ludwig Gleim (1719-1803)

Unschuldige Jugend
Dir sei es bewusst:
Nur Feinde der Tugend
Sind Feinde der Lust!

Denn Tugend und Freude
Sind ewig verwandt;
Es knüpfet sie beide
Ein himmlisches Band!

North Korea to host Summer Olympics

Since North Korea is now the only country on earth with zero confirmed cases of CORVID-19, they have graciously offered to host the 2020 Summer Olympics. The IOC has agreed because they decided it was better than the uncertainty of postponing the games for a year or more with no guarantee of when they might be held.

North Korea is, however, requiring all athletes, officials, and fans to show up two months early, both so that they can quarantined in case they’re infected with the coronavirus and so that they can help build the necessary venues.

Also, London bookies are now reporting that Kim Jong Un has become the favorite to win all gold medals.

UPDATE: President Trump has reacted angrily to this news and demanded that the games be held in the United States saying “there’s nothing the Rocket Man can do that I can’t do better.” The President pointed out that all the recently constructed field hospitals could easily be converted quickly into sporting venues.