I taste a liquor never brewed -
From Tankards scooped in Pearl -
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air - am I -
And Debauchee of Dew -
Reeling - thro' endless summer days -
From inns of molten Blue -
When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door -
When Butterflies - renounce their "drams" -
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their Snowy Hats -
And Saints - to windows run -
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the - Sun!
Emily Dickinson
The Poems of Emily Dickinson (Franklin), 207
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