Emily Dickinson


I taste a liquor never brewed -- 
From Tankards scooped in Pearl --
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
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 --