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I taste a liquor never brewed，
|
|
|
From tankards scooped in pearl
|
|
|
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
|
|
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Yield such an alcohol
|
|
|
Inebriate of air am I,
|
5
|
|
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
|
10
|
|
When butterflies renounce their drams，
|
|
|
l shall but drink the more!
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|
|
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats，
|
|
|
And saints to windows run，
|
|
|
To see the little tippler
|
15
|
|
Leaning against the sun!
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|
