I taste a liquor never brewed - 
From Tankards scooped in Pearl -
Not all the Frankfort Berries 
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 Tippler 
Leaning against the - Sun! 

– Emily Dickinson