The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.

Category William Blake

The Sick Rose

O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.

The Angel

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen Guarded by an Angel mild: Witless woe was ne’er beguiled! And I wept both night and day, And he wiped my tears away; And I…

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears:…

Holy Thursday

Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land. Babes reduc’d to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand ? Is that trembling cry a song ? Can it be a song of joy? And so…

The Little Vagabond

Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold, But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm; Besides I can tell where I am use’d well, Such usage in heaven will never do well.    But if at the Church they…

The Clod and the Pebble

“Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.” So sung a little Clod of Clay Trodden with the cattle’s feet, But a Pebble…

The Little Girl Found

All the night in woe Lyca’s parents go Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan, Arm in arm, seven days They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And…

The Little Girl Lost

In futurity I prophetic see That the earth from sleep (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seek For her Maker meek; And the desert wild Become a garden mild. In the southern clime, Where the summer’s prime Never fades…

The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the…

The Fly

Little fly, Thy summer’s play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my…