I TASTE A LIQUOR NEVER BREWED

By 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—