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.
Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails— By what mystic mooring She is held today— This is the errand of the eye Out upon the Bay.
Where Thou art—that—is Home— Cashmere—or Calvary—the same— Degree—or Shame— I scarce esteem Location’s Name— So I may Come— What Thou dost—is Delight— Bondage as Play—be sweet— Imprisonment—Content— And Sentence—Sacrament— Just We two—meet— Where Thou art not—is Woe— Tho’ Bands of…
Where Ships of Purple—gently toss— On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!
Where I have lost, I softer tread— I sow sweet flower from garden bed— I pause above that vanished head And mourn. Whom I have lost, I pious guard From accent harsh, or ruthless word— Feeling as if their pillow…
Where bells no more affright the morn— Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms— Where tired Children placid sleep Thro’ Centuries of noon This place is Bliss—this town is Heaven— Please, Pater, pretty…
When we stand on the tops of Things— And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it— And Mirrors on the scene— Just laying light—no soul will wink Except it have the flaw— The Sound ones,…
When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race When to his Covenant Needle The Sailor doubting turns— It will be amply early To ask what treason means.
When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun— The hand that paused to gather Upon this Summer’s day Will idle lie—in Auburn— Then take my flowers—pray!
When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West The Peaks, that lingered last Remain in Her regret As scarcely as the Iodine Upon the Cataract.
When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair— And get the Dimples ready— And wonder we could care For that old—faded Midnight— That frightened—but an Hour—