Nature
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 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!
~ Emily Dickinson
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 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!
~ Emily Dickinson
posted by David at 11:51 pm
3 Comments:
Well, well. Is this a dainty way of saying, "hoy, I'm plastered!"??
Or shall we say 'garcon! Le chien est sur la table!'
Hic.
Hahaha you're right, in a way. It's all about being intoxicated, but by nature. That line in French reminds me of a particular bird I knew, that would knock (peck?) on doors and fly away.
write write write!
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