I taste a liquor never brewed

I taste a liquor never brewed,[^a1]
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not Frankfort berries yield the sense[^a2]
Such a delirious whirl.

[^a1: om. | om.]

[^a2: om. | om.]

Inebriate of air am I,[^a3]
And debauchee of dew;--
Reeling through endless summer days,[^a4]
From inns of molten blue.

[^a3: om. | om.]

[^a4: om. | om.]

When landlords turn the drunken bee[^a5]
Out of the Fox-glove's[^a6] door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,[^a7]
I shall but drink the more;

[^a5: om. | om.]

[^a6: Fox-glove's | Foxglove's]

[^a7: om. | om.]

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,[^a8]
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler[^a9]
Come staggering toward the sun.

[^a8: om. | om.]

[^a9: om. | om.]