The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by Blast— It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn— It slipped—and slipped— As One that drunken—stept— Its white foot tripped— Then dropped from sight— Ah, Brig—Good Night To Crew and You—…
It struck me—every Day— The Lightning was as new As if the Cloud that instant slit And let the Fire through— It burned Me—in the Night— It Blistered to My Dream— It sickened fresh upon my sight— With every Morn…
It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace— Would interrupt the Dark— And crowd the little Room— Too scant—by Cubits—to contain The Sacrament—of Him— I am not used to Hope— It might…
It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame— Wild flowers—kindle in the Woods— The Brooks slam—all the Day— No Black bird bates his Banjo— For passing Calvary— Auto da…
It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—’twas not Pain— It moved away the Cheeks— A Dimple at a time— And left the Profile—plainer— And in the place of Bloom It left the…
It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation— But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissolution— It failed from Men— I could not deem these Planetary forces Annulled— But suffered an Exchange of Territory— Or World—
It is easy to work when the soul is at play— But when the soul is in pain— The hearing him put his playthings up Makes work difficult—then— It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind— But…
It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place, Though pyramids decay, And kingdoms, like the orchard, Flit russetly away.
It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind A Bird to overhear Delight without a Cause— Arrestless as invisible— A matter of the Skies.
It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust— Permitted—such a Head— The Stone—that tells defending Whom This Spartan put away What little of Him we—possessed In Pawn for Liberty— The price…