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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.
Percentage of Americans who say they have “a great deal of confidence” in the executive branch of government:
Dolphins use names.
A poet in Saudi Arabia was sentenced to death for apostasy.
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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.”