POETRY.

I taste a liquor never brewed


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!

by Emily Dickinson.

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POETRY.

POETRY.

POETRY.