The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
I’ve a Friend, over the sea;I like him, but he loves me.It all grew out of the books I write;They find such favour in his sightThat he slaughters you with savage looksBecause you don’t admire my books.He does himself though,—-and…
Out of your whole life give but a moment!All of your life that has gone before,All to come after it,—so you ignore,So you make perfect the present, condense,In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment,Thought and feeling and soul and…
FAME. See, as the prettiest graves will do in time,Our poet’s wants the freshness of its prime;Spite of the sexton’s browsing horse, the sodsHave struggled through its binding osier rods;Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry,Wanting the brick-work promised by-and-by;How the…
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!Rescue my Castle, before the hot dayBrightens the blue from its silvery grey, (Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!” Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you’d say;Many’s the friend there, will listen and pray“God’s…
PIANO DI SORRENTO Fort, Fort, my beloved one,Sit here by my side,On my knees put up both little feet!I was sure, if I tried,I could make you laugh spite of Scirocco.Now, open your eyes,Let me keep you amused till he…
Rome, 15— Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?Nephews—sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well—She, men would have to be your mother once,Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!What’s done…
What is he buzzing in my ears?“Now that I come to die,Do I view the world as a vale of tears?”Ah, reverend sir, not I! What I viewed there once, what I view againWhere the physic bottles standOn the table’s…
I. All June I bound the rose in sheaves.Now, rose by rose, I strip the leavesAnd strew them where Pauline may pass.She will not turn aside? Alas!Let them lie. Suppose they die?The chance was they might take her eye. II.…
The year’s at the spring,And day’s at the morn;Morning’s at seven;The hill-side’s dew-pearl’d;The lark’s on the wing;The snail’s on the thorn;God’s in His heaven—All’s right with the world!
You’ll love me yet!—and I can tarryYour love’s protracted growing:June reared that bunch of flowers you carryFrom seeds of April’s sowing. I plant a heartful now: some seedAt least is sure to strike,And yield—what you’ll not pluck indeed,Not love, but,…