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!
This one she speaks on life, for once. She speaks on life in a happy manner for once, as well. This is highly unusual for Emily Dickenson. Here she’s saying, as the cliché goes, “I’m high on life!” She knows, however, that she will eventually be right back down again, for this moment she’ll be quite content. “I shall but drink the more!” is her motto, as she drinks till the saints run to the windows to see this drunkard leaning against the sun. This is actually one of very few Emily Dickenson poems that I actually can say that I enjoyed.
Dickinson wasn't depressed or anything Lou, she appeared to be more of an observer. She basically took life for what it's worth, and found her escape through books. She did not get to travel much, so maybe she could have been slightly depressed. But if you read some of her other poems, she actually is light-hearted, or at least neutral in them. If you get a chance, read OUR Meredith's (Harber) blog entry.
Posted by: Jason Pugh at October 13, 2005 01:55 AM