Monday, August 13, 2007

The Poetry of Emily Dickinson 3


I TASTE a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl [Ooo. Sounds delish! -ed.];
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew [You can get drunk off dew??? -ed.],
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue [I've actually barfed molten bleu before. -ed].

When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more! [Testify sister! -ed.]

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun! [Or the toilet. -ed.]

This one made me a little teary-eyed. 'Scuse me...

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