The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
STRANGER! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
To those who’ve fail’d, in aspiration vast, To unnam’d soldiers fallen in front on the lead, To calm, devoted engineers—to over-ardent travelers—to pilots on their ships, To many a lofty song and picture without recognition—I’d rear a laurel-cover’d monument, High,…
To think of time . . . . to think through the retrospection, To think of today . . and the ages continued henceforward Have you guessed you yourself would not continue? Have you dreaded those earth-beetles? Have you feared…
To thee old cause! Thou peerless, passionate, good cause, Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea, Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands, After a strange sad war, great war for thee, (I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will…
Ah, whispering, something again, unseen, Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door, Thou, laving, tempering all, cool-freshing, gently vitalizing Me, old, alone, sick, weak-down, melted-worn with sweat; Thou, nestling, folding close and firm yet soft, companion…
Why reclining, interrogating? Why myself and all drowsing? What deepening twilight! Scum floating atop of the waters! Who are they, as bats and night-dogs, askant in the Capitol? What a filthy Presidentiad! (O south, your torrid suns! O north, your…
Why reclining, interrogating? why myself and all drowsing? What deepening twilight—scum floating atop of the waters, Who are they as bats and night-dogs askant in the capitol? What a filthy Presidentiad! (O South, your torrid suns! O North, your arctic…
Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face, We must separate awhile–Here! take from my lips this kiss. Whoever you are, I give it especially to you; So long!–And I hope we shall meet again.
Have I no weapon-word for thee—some message brief and fierce? (Have I fought out and done indeed the battle?) Is there no shot left, For all thy affectations, lisps, scorns, manifold silliness? Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee?…
Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, Waking renew’d on thy prodigious pinions, (Burst the wild storm? above it thou ascended’st, And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,) Now a blue point, far, far in…