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

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