A poem for Friday: “I taste a liquor never brewed”

Used to be I posted piano on Fridays and poems on Wednesdays, but it’s been some time since I did that, and I’ve begun reading a volume of modern poetry that I got from my brother after he finished the class he bought it for. (It’s this one, if you’re curious.) This poem (#214) by Emily Dickinson has been in my head since Saturday, a pretty, breathless little piece that puts me in mind of e.e. cummings.

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—

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