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-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 little Tippler
Leaning against the-Sun-