The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
I rose at the dead of night, And went to the lattice aloneTo look for my Mother’s ghost Where the ghostly moonlight shone.My friends had failed one by one, Middle-aged, young, and old,Till the ghosts were warmer to me Than…
There are rivers lapsing downLily-laden to the sea:Every lily is a boatFor bees, one, two, or three:I wish there were a fairy boatFor you, my friend, and me. And if there were a fairy boatAnd if the river bore us,We…
“Sweet Life is dead.”—”Not so:I meet him day by day,Where bluest fountains flowAnd trees are white as snow,For it is time of May.Even now from long agoHe will not say me nay,He is most fair to see :And if I…
There are lilies for her sisters—(Who so cold as they?)—And heartsease for one I must not nameWhen I am far away.I shall pluck the lady liliesAnd fancy all the rest:I shall pluck the bright-eyed heartseaseFor her sake I love the…
Oh lost garden Paradise!—Were the roses redder thereThan they blossom otherwhere?Was the night’s delicious shadeMore intensely star-inlaid?Who can tell what memoriesOf lost beloved ParadiseSaddened Eve with sleepless eyes? Fair first mother lulled to restIn a choicer garden-nest,Curtained with a softer…
It is a land with neither night nor day, Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain, Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plainStretches thro’ long unbroken miles away:While thro’ the sluggish air a twilight grey Broodeth; no moons or seasons…
(Written in Sickness) Green sprout the grasses,Red blooms the mossy rose,Blue nods the harebellWhere purple heather blows:The water-lily, silver white,Is living fair as light: Sweet jasmine-branches trailA dusky starry veil:Each goodly is to see,Comely in its degree:I only I, alas…
Her face was like an opening rose,So bright to look upon:But now it is like fallen snows,As cold, as dead, as wan. Heaven lit with stars is more like herThan is this empty crust:Deaf, dumb, and blind, it cannot stir,But…
She listened like a cushat doveThat listens to its mate alone:She listened like a cushat dove That loves but only one.Not fair as men would reckon fair,Nor noble as they count the line:Only as graceful as a bough, And tendrils…
When the eye hardly sees, And the pulse hardly stirs,And the heart would scarcely quicken Though the voice were hers:Then the longing wasting fever Will be almost past:Sleep indeed come back again, And peace at last. Not till then, dear…