The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, First made and latest left of all the knights, Told, when the man was no more than a voice In the white winter of his age, to those With whom he dwelt, new…
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur’s Table Round, At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, Danced like a wither’d leaf before the hall. And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,…
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud;Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine, storm, and cloud;Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile…
I send you here a sort of allegory,(For you will understand it) of a soul,A sinful soul possess’d of many gifts,A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain,That did love Beauty only, (Beauty seenIn…
How thought you that this thing could captivate? What are those graces that could make her dear, Who is not worth the notice of a sneer,To rouse the vapid devil of her hate?A speech conventional, so void of weight, That…
Home they brought her warrior dead:She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:All her maidens, watching, said,‘She must weep or she will die.’ Then they praised him, soft and low,Called him worthy to be loved,Truest friend and noblest foe;Yet she neither spoke…
O you chorus of indolent reviewers,Irresponsible, indolent reviewers,Look, I come to the test, a tiny poemAll composed in a metre of Catullus,All in quantity, careful of my motion,Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him,Lest I fall unawares before…
Hark! the dogs howl! the sleetwinds blow,The church-clocks knoll: the hours haste,I leave the dreaming world below.Blown o’er frore heads of hills I go,Long narrowing friths and stripes of snow ÔÇôTime bears my soul into the waste.I seek the voice…
First pledge our Queen this solemn night,Then drink to England, every guest;That man’s the best CosmopoliteWho loves his native country best.May freedom’s oak for ever liveWith stronger life from day to day;That man’s the true ConservativeWho lops the moulder’d branch…
Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and satThere in the holy house at AlmesburyWeeping, none with her save a little maid,A novice: one low light betwixt them burnedBlurred by the creeping mist, for all abroad,Beneath a moon unseen albeit at…