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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 — through 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 more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints — to windows run –
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the — Sun –
–Emily Dickinson, I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed (1860) in Poems by Emily Dickinson, First Series, no. xx (1890).
More from Scott Horton:
Six Questions — October 18, 2014, 8:00 pm
Nathaniel Raymond on CIA interrogation techniques.
Mark Denbeaux on the NCIS cover-up of three “suicides” at Guantánamo Bay Detention Camp
Number of British women killed last fall by lightning conducted through their underwire bras:
British women wear heels for fifty-one years on average, from the ages of twelve to sixty-three.
Thousands of employees of McDonald’s protested outside the company’s headquarters near Chicago, demanding their wages be increased to $15 per hour. “I can’t afford any shoes,” said one employee in attendance, “and I want Versace heels.”
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“Shelby is waiting for something. He himself does not know what it is. When it comes he will either go back into the world from which he came, or sink out of sight in the morass of alcoholism or despair that has engulfed other vagrants.”