The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
We turn not older with years, but newer every day.
She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour! She dropt as softly as a star From out my summer’s Eve— Less skillful than Le Verriere It’s…
She sweeps with many-colored brooms, And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in, You dropped an amber thread; And now you’ve littered all the East…
She staked her Feathers—Gained an Arc— Debated—Rose again— This time—beyond the estimate Of Envy, or of Men— And now, among Circumference— Her steady Boat be seen— At home—among the Billows—As The Bough where she was born—
She sped as Petals of a Rose Offended by the Wind— A frail Aristocrat of Time Indemnity to find— Leaving on nature—a Default As Cricket or as Bee— But Andes in the Bosoms where She had begun to lie—
She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot— Put on her carmine suit And see!
She sights a Bird—she chuckles— She flattens—then she crawls— She runs without the look of feet— Her eyes increase to Balls— Her Jaws stir—twitching—hungry— Her Teeth can hardly stand— She leaps, but Robin leaped the first— Ah, Pussy, of the…
She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon— Her merry Arms, half dropt— As if for lull of sport— An instant had forgot— The Trick to start— Her dancing Eyes—ajar—…
She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes— She doth Her Purple Work— And putteth Her away In low Apartments in the Sod – As worthily as…
She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid— To fetch Her Grace—and Hue— And Fairness—and Renown— The Firmament’s—To Pluck Her— And fetch Her Thee—be mine—
She died—this was the way she died. And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The Angels must have spied, Since I could never find her…