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
the landlord 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!
No comments:
Post a Comment