The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
In thy western halls of gold When thou sittest in thy state, Bards, that erst sublimely told Heroic deeds, and sang of fate, With fervour seize their adamantine lyres, Whose chords are solid rays, and twinkle radiant fires. Here Homer…
When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,…
As from the darkening gloom a silver dove Upsoars, and darts into the eastern light, On pinions that nought moves but pure delight, So fled thy soul into the realms above, Regions of peace and everlasting love; Where happy spirits,…
Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain? Bright as the humming-bird’s green diadem, When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain? Hast thou a goblet for…
What though while the wonders of nature exploring, I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia’s face, the enthusiast’s friend: Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes, With you, kindest…
Byron! how sweetly sad thy melody! Attuning still the soul to tenderness, As if soft Pity, with unusual stress, Had touch’d her plaintive lute, and thou, being by, Hadst caught the tones, nor suffer’d them to die. O’ershadowing sorrow doth…
How soon that voice, majestic and elate, Melted in dying numbers ! Oh ! how nigh Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die A half-blown flow’ret which cold blasts amate. But this is past : thou art among…
Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies; Without that modest softening that enhances The downcast eye, repentant of the pain That its mild light creates to heal again: E’en then, elate, my spirit…
O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate! Dear child of sorrow — son of misery! How soon the film of death obscur’d that eye, Whence Genius mildly falsh’d, and high debate. How soon that voice, majestic and elate, Melted in…
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? The transient pleasures as a vision seem, And yet we think the greatest pain’s to die. How strange it is that…