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—through endless summer day— 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—
I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed - Emily Dickenson