Sonnet 086 - LXXXVI
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him wi…
Accelerating cosmological simulations on GPUs: a portable approach using OpenMP
M. D. Lepinzan, G. Lacopo, D. Goz, G. Taffoni, P. Monaco, P. J. Elahi, U. Varetto, M. Cytowski
https://arxiv.org/abs/2510.02873
SAIL: SRAM-Accelerated LLM Inference System with Lookup-Table-based GEMV
Jingyao Zhang, Jaewoo Park, Jongeun Lee, Elaheh Sadredini
https://arxiv.org/abs/2509.25853 https://
Sonnet 084 - LXXXIV
Who is it that says most, which can say more,
Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you,
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew?
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature ma…
Sonnet 084 - LXXXIV
Who is it that says most, which can say more,
Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you,
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew?
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature ma…