The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
(Written to be broadcast over the NBC Network on D-Day, June 6, 1944. Read by Ronald Colman.)They must not go aloneinto that burning building!—which todayis all of Europe! Saythat you go with them, spirit and heart and mind! Although the…
Not ever, now, any more, upon this mildewed planetShines the sweet, wholesome sun: we live in fog.Our leaves grow large and green, but we bear no blossom;No coloured hope unfolds, no poem speaks outIn Dutch, Korean, English or Tagalog. Yet,…
You will not haunt the rue VavinBehind the old Rotonde we knew,—Whose waiters called “les quat’ copains”Henry and Stan and me and you. You, with your merry wit, will not,You, with your slouched and awkward grace,O owlish infant polyglot!—You will…
Invocation to the Muses Read by the poet at The Public Ceremonial of The National Institute of Arts and Letters at Carnegie Hall, New York, January 18th, 1941. Great Muse, that from this hall absent for longHast never been,Great Muse…
(Vassar College, 1917) Thou great offended God of love and kindness, We have denied, we have forgotten Thee!With deafer sense endow, enlighten us with blindness, Who, having ears and eyes, nor hear nor see.Bright are the banners on the tents…
Out ofNight and alarm,Out ofDarkness and dread,Out of old hate,Grudge and distrust,Sin and remorse,Passion and blindness; Shall comeDawn and the birds,Shall come Slacking of greed, Snapping of fear—Love shall fold warm like a cloakRound the shuddering earthTill the sound of…
Great voice that calls us in the wind of dawn,Strange voice that stills us in the heat of noon,Heard in the sunset,Heard in the moonriseAnd in the stirring of the wakeful night,Speak now in blessing,Chide us no longer,Great voice of…
(Vassar College, 1915) Druids’ ChantGreat voice that calls us in the wind of dawn,Strange voice that stills us in the heat of noon,Heard in the sunset,Heard in the moonriseAnd in the stirring of the wakeful night,Speak now in blessing,Chide us…
In this squalid, dirty dooryardWhere the chickens squawk and run,White, incredible, the pear treeStands apart, and takes the sun; Mindful of the eyes upon it,Vain of its new holiness,—Like the waste-man’s little daughterIn her First Communion dress.
I am glad, I think, my happy mother diedBefore the German airplanes over the English countrysideDropped bombs into the peaceful hamlets that we used to know—Sturminster-Newton, and the road that used to runPast bridge, past cows in meadow,Warm in the…