The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
The night creeps onward, sad and slow:In these red embers’ dying glowThe forms of Fancy come and go. An island-farm—broad seas of cornStirred by the wandering breath of morn—The happy spot where I was born. The picture fadeth in its…
I stood within the gateOf a great temple, ‘mid the living streamOf worshipers that thronged its regal stateFair-pictured in my dream. Jewels and gold were there;And floors of marble lent a crystal sheenTo body forth, as in a lower air,The…
See! There are tears upon her face—Tears newly shed, and scarcely dried:Close, in an agonised embrace,She clasps the infant at her side. Peace dwells in those soft-lidded eyes,Those parted lips that faintly smile—Peace, the foretaste of Paradise,In heart too young…
‘Only a woman’s hair’! Fling it aside!A bubble on Life’s mighty stream:Heed it not, man, but watch the broadening tideBright with the western beam. Nay! In those words there rings from other yearsThe echo of a long low cry,Where a…
The morn was bright, the steeds were light,The wedding guests were gay:Young Ellen stood within the woodAnd watched them pass away.She scarcely saw the gallant train:The tear-drop dimmed her ee:Unheard the maiden did complainBeneath the Willow-Tree. “Oh Robin, thou didst…
The light was faint, and soft the airThat breathed around the place;And she was lithe, and tall, and fair,And with a wayward graceHer queenly head she bare. With glowing cheek, with gleaming eye,She met me on the way:My spirit owned…
In her eyes is the living lightOf a wanderer to earthFrom a far celestial height:Summers five are all the span—Summers five since Time beganTo veil in mists of human nightA shining angel-birth. Does an angel look from her eyes?Will she…
I love the stillness of the wood:I love the music of the rill:I love to couch in pensive moodUpon some silent hill. Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,The silver-crested ripples pass;And, like a mimic brook, the breezeWhispers among the grass.…
Hark, said the dying man, and sighed,To that complaining tone—Like sprite condemned, each eventide,To walk the world alone.At sunset, when the air is still,I hear it creep from yonder hill:It breathes upon me, dead and chill,A moment, and is gone. My son,…
In the dark silence of an ancient room,Whose one tall window fronted to the West,Where, through laced tendrils of a hanging vine,The sunset-glow was fading into night,Sat a pale Lady, resting weary handsUpon a great clasped volume, and her faceWithin…