May Wine
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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-- Emily Dickinson (1861) |
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My hair is bold like the |
