The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
If all the grief and woe and bitterness,All dolour, ill and every evil chanceThat ever came upon this grieving worldWere set together they would seem but lightAgainst the death of the young English King.Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous,The world…
From the French of Jules Laforgue (Scene courte mais typique)Your eyes! Since I lost their incandescenceFlat calm engulphs my jibs,The shudder of Vae soli gurgles beneath my ribs. You should have seen me after the affray,I rushed about in the…
When I but think upon the great dead daysAnd turn my mind upon that splendid madness,Lo! I do curse my strengthAnd blame the sun his gladness;For that the one is deadAnd the red sun mocks my sadness. Behold me, Vidal,…
Beautiful, tragical faces—Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,That are so sodden and drunken, Who hath forgotten you? O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many! The…
Phyllidula is scrawny but amorous,Thus have the gods awarded her,That in pleasure she receives more than she can give;If she does not count this blessedLet her change her religion.
I Rose White, Yellow, Silver The swirl of light follows me through the square,The smoke of incenseMounts from the four horns of my bed-posts,The water-jet of gold light bears us up through the ceilings;Lapped in the gold-coloured flame I descend…
‘Being no longer human, why should IPretend humanity or don the frail attire?Men have I known and men, but never oneWas grown so free an essence, or becomeSo simply element as what I am.The mist goes from the mirror and…
‘Pan is dead. Great Pan is dead.Ah! bow your heads, ye maidens all,And weave ye him his coronal.’ ‘There is no summer in the leaves,And withered are the sedges;How shall we weave a coronal,Or gather floral pledges?’ ‘That I may…
When the Taihaitian princessHeard that he had decided,She rushed out into the sunlight and swarmed up acocoanut palm tree, But he returned to this islandAnd wrote ninety Petrarchan sonnets.
O strange face there in the glass!O ribald company, O saintly host,O sorrow-swept my fool,What answer? O ye myriadThat strive? and play and pass,Jest, challenge, counterlie!I? I? I?And ye?