The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
Men’s Voices:O Thou, who rousest the voice of the thunder,And biddest the storms to awake from their sleep,Who breakest the strength of the mountains asunder,And cleavest the manifold pride of the deep!Thou, who with bountiful torrent and riverDost nourish the…
Pamdini:My sisters plucked green leaves at mornTo deck the garden swing,And donned their shining golden veilsFor the Festival of Spring. . . .But sweeter than the new-blown vines,And the call of nesting birdsAre the tendrils of your hair, Beloved,And the…
I carried my curds to the Mathura fair. . . .How softly the heifers were lowing. . . .I wanted to cry “Who will buy, who will buyThese curds that are white as the clouds in the skyWhen the breezes…
Shining ones awake, we seek your chosen templesIn caves and sheltering sandhills and sacred banyan roots;O lift your dreaming heads from their trance of ageless wisdom,And weave your mystic measures to the melody of flutes. We bring you milk and maize,…
Bangle-sellers are we who bearOur shining loads to the temple fair. . . .Who will buy these delicate, brightRainbow-tinted circles of light?Lustrous tokens of radiant lives,For happy daughters and happy wives. Some are meet for a maiden’s wrist,Silver and blue as…
Songs of my City II. (To a tune of the Bazaars) What do you sell, O ye merchants?Richly your wares are displayed.Turbans of crimson and silver,Tunics of purple brocade,Mirrors with panels of amber,Daggers with handles of jade. What do you…
Songs of my City I. How shall I feed thee, Beloved?On golden-red honey and fruit.How shall I please thee, Beloved?With th’ voice of the cymbal and lute. How shall I garland thy tresses?With pearls from the jessamine close.How shall I…
I. In a Latticed Balcony How shall I feed thee, Beloved?On golden-red honey and fruit.How shall I please thee, Beloved?With th’ voice of the cymbal and lute. How shall I garland thy tresses?With pearls from the jessamine close.How shall I…
In a Bengalee metre Where the golden, glowingChampak-buds are blowing,By the swiftly-flowing streams,Now, when day is dying,There are fairies flyingScattering a cloud of dreams. Slumber-spirits wingingThro’ the forest singing,Flutter hither bringing soon,Baby-visions sheenyFor my Sunalini . . .Hush thee, O my…
Full are my pitchers and far to carry,Lone is the way and long,Why, O why was I tempted to tarryLured by the boatmen’s song?Swiftly the shadows of night are falling,Hear, O hear, is the white crane calling,Is it the wild owl’s…