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.
A Tooth upon Our Peace The Peace cannot deface— Then Wherefore be the Tooth? To vitalize the Grace— The Heaven hath a Hell— Itself to signalize— And every sign before the Place Is Gilt with Sacrifice—
A Tongue—to tell Him I am true! Its fee—to be of Gold— Had Nature—in Her monstrous House A single Ragged Child— To earn a Mine—would run That Interdicted Way, And tell Him—Charge thee speak it plain— That so far—Truth…
A toad can die of light! Death is the common right Of toads and men,– Of earl and midge The privilege. Why swagger then? The gnat’s supremacy Is large as thine.
A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”— An anguish at the mention Which when to patience grown, I’ve known permission given To rejoin its own.
A thought went up my mind to-day That I have had before, But did not finish,–some way back, I could not fix the year, Nor where it went, nor why it came The second time to me, Nor definitely…
A still—Volcano—Life– That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight— A quiet—Earthquake Style– Too subtle to suspect By natures this side Naples— The North cannot detect The Solemn—Torrid–Symbol– The lips that…
A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address. A Hint of Ports and Peoples— And much not understood— The fairer—for the farness– And for the foreignhood.
A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon— A depth—an Azure–a perfume– Transcending ecstasy. And still within a summer’s night A something so transporting bright…
A solemn thing—it was–I said– A woman—white–to be– And wear—if God should count me fit– Her blameless mystery— A hallowed thing—to drop a life Into the purple well— Too plummetless—that it return– Eternity—until– I pondered how the bliss…
A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up– The Maker’s Ladders stop— And in the Orchard far below— You hear a Being—drop– A Wonderful—to feel the Sun Still toiling at the…