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
 
                               Emily Dickinson