I taste a liquor never brewed – From Tankards scooped in Pearl – Not all the Frankfort BerriesYield 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 BeeOut 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 TipplerLeaning against the – Sun! – Emily Dickinson