Emily Dickinson's poem known by its first line, I taste a liquor never brewed, is an

expression of sheer exhberance. We know not exactly for what. It could be for love. It
could be for poetry. It could be for truth. it doesn't really matter. The only thing that matters
is that it be exhaltant, for anything less would be unworthy of the poem as a whole and
parituclarly of its ending.

The first three of the four quatrains build a cause using two metaphors of unbridled
consumption, the effect of which is revealed in the fourth quatrain. The first metaphor is that
of alcohol consumption, and it is particularly useful as a means of conveying an intoxicant
that loosens one's inhibitions, makes the senses reel, and, most of all, leads to a desire that the
party never stop. The second continues this allusion to inebriation with its reference to the
"drunken bee" but shifts the source from humans conuming alchohol to insects consuming
nectar, allowing Dickinson to extend the metaphor of drink and unbridled excess while at the
same time reducing it's vulgarity. A necessary conceit, for we know where excessive
consumption of alcohol leads, and it is not exhaltant.

The fourth quatrain completes the shift away from the vulgar through classical allusion.
The "little tippler Leaning against the Sun" evokes the flight of Icarus. Only, there is no
burning of wings here. The cause, continual, unbridled ascent through consumption of the
divine has led to a most extroidinary effect--the "Little Tippler" has become an object of
adoration by no less than the saints and seraphs.

2. Emily Dickinson's lively poem, "I taste a liquor never brewed," is a lighthearted,
intoxicated jaunt through the rural countryside. A brief work divided into four stanzas of four
lines each, each stanza delves further into Dickinson's drunkenness. Dickinson uses this
metaphor of inebriation, a humorously used poetic device nevertheless well executed, to
convey her complete and devoted love of nature and all it implies.

Dickinson clearly attributes the many qualities of liquor as a metaphor for her inebriation
(and it's cause) throughout the poem. At the onset, the reader first thinks her alcohol is an
actual alcoholic beverage-- hence the first four words-- until he finds out it is a "liquor never
brewed" (1). This, however, presents a disconnect, because all alcoholic beverages by
definition must be brewed. The process of fermentation, after all, is what gives alcohol its
characteristic taste: its pungency, its intoxicating qualities, its pleasant acidity. Dickinson's
brew is able to have such effects without the presence of any alcohol per se, emphasizing the
powerful, almost visceral effects of her "drink." And not only is Dickinson's metaphorical
alcohol strong, but it is one of fine quality! This drink comes from "tankards scooped in
Pearl," (2) and is better than that made from vats along the Rhine. Pearls are, obviously, fine
stones which, before the onset of "fake" pearls in the late 20th century, were both rare and
beautiful. They are also lustrous and smooth, perhaps describing the "alcohol" itself. The
alcohol which Dickinson drinks is also finer than that which comes from "vats" near the
Rhine River. Though I myself am still below legal drinking age, I would presume that such
alcohol is both of excellent quality and unsurpassed in taste, as France is known for its
vineyards. All in all, Dickinson's drink, though not yet named, is better than true alcohol.
The second and third stanzas finally reveal and elaborate on what exactly Dickinson's
metaphorical alcohol is; that is, her beloved nature. She is "Inebriate" (5) and a "Debauchee"
(6)-- both (not altogether positive) terms to describe drunken people. What she is drunk on,
however, is not alcohol, but "air" and "dew," both which are pivotal to nature, and thus in this
poem, are representative of it. This is further affirmed when she "reels" though "inns of
Molten blue" (7-8), or the sky. The sky, the dew, and the air, all which are flowing and are
vast, scattered bodies of water and gas, are attributed as Dickinson's playground and cause for
her inebriation. Such a setting elates her and is never able to sate her: she continues her
"drinking" of nature for "endless summer days" (7). Even when Landlords expel "bees" from
their tenant "foxgloves" and "butterflies renounce their drams," (9-10) Dickinson continues
drinking. Bees and butterflies, however, will never experience such a thing: as long as there
are bees, there will be nectar collection. In fact, bees are necessary for flower pollination, and
thus, propagation. Such occurrences could only happen with humans-- the non-paying,
raucous drunkard kicked out of his apartment, the ailing alcoholic who renounces drink. By
personifying these animals who will never cease the purpose of their being with human
characteristics, Dickinson emphasizes the thoroughness of the effect which nature has on her,
and that her love of nature is more of a reflex ingrained in her than something she learns to
love. This metaphor proves Dickinson is more stubbornly attached to nature than a chronic
inebriate to his drink; she almost has no choice but to love nature.

In the last stanza, Dickinson affirms that she will never cease to love nature until she dies.
She speaks of "seraphs" and "saints" watching her "lean against the-- Sun--" (13-16). These
creatures, "seraphs" and "saints," are biblical figures usually found in one place: heaven. The
sun, which Dickinson leans against, is also associated with the ending day, and only when it
falls can she finally rest. The dashes which surround the word, "Sun," emphasize a sort of
delay: the speaker is faltering as she leans against the sun; the poem itself reflects her
inebriation and final death. This is also the only place in which the alcohol metaphor surfaces
in the fourth stanza, and it is one less harsh than previously used: use of the appellation,
"Tippler" has a humorous connotation, in comparison to "inebriate" and "debauchee."
Dickinson's metaphor thus softens and proves that nature is not bad at all; its intoxicating
effects are worthy of causing such inebriation, and do not impede entrance into heaven. It is
important to note that Dickinson's death is not a result of her inebriation, but that she
voluntarily continues to participate in this "drunkenness" until she naturally dies with the
setting of the sun in the embrace of seraphs and saints.

Dickinson's lithe poem "I taste a liquor never brewed" undeniably displays her love of nature
through the metaphor of alcoholism. The many dashes throughout the poem gives it a
staggering, characteristically drunken feel, yet Dickinson's lyrics are jolly and unapologetic.
With each stanza, Dickinson gives us more infomation about this alcoholism, from an
introduction to an affirmation, even pride in it, to a refusal to stop, and to her eventual natural
death. Each stanza is almost a next stage of devotion, from her introduction to the alcohol to
her inability to het it go. But though alcohol usually has a negative connotation, Dickinson
transfers it to one positive when she likens it to nature and emphasizes its innate quality and
ability to bring joy. Nature is a fine alcohol, and one which enhances her life, rather than
ruins it. Dickinson's continual pursuit and praise of such a thing shows that perhaps all of us
should also, if only to gain some insight into her devastatingly strong love of this fine nectar.

3. In the first line of I taste a liquor never brewed, Dickinson introduces a paradox: how can a
liquor exist without having been brewed? In the following lines of the first stanza Dickinson
mentions Vats used in the brewing process but her use of the word never in the first line
implies that the liquor she tastes is not a wine, beer, or whiskey, but rather another substance
which causes her to feel a similar intoxication.

The capitalization of the words Tankards, Pearl, Vats, and Alcohol in the first stanza
indicates importance. Tankards imply a large container, emphasized even more so by the
use of the capital. The fact that these enormous Tankards are scooped in Pearl indicates
that the substance of which she speaks is of greater worth, protected within the strong, rare,
pure white colored pearl. Vats is capitalized perhaps just for emphasis of the wine brewed
in the Rhine valley. Alcohol in the final line of the first stanza is capitalized because
Dickinson is not referring to such a wine, but rather the yet unknown substance that is
causing her intoxication.

In the second stanza the reader is given clues as to the source of Dickinsons intoxication.
Inebriate of Air - - am I- -/And Debauchee of Dew- - identify Air and Dew as such
sources; Dickinson again uses capitalization for emphasis. Not only does she continue to
stress her state of inebriation, but introduces a connotation of sexual ecstasy with the use of
Debauchee. Dickinson is Reeling- - and makes use of the dash freely in this stanza to
highlight the pleasure she feels in her current state.

Molten suggests a hot, liquefied substance, not often associated with the cool color Blue.
Again the use of capitalization and the following dash indicates the prominence of the phrase.
Based on the visual description, the Molten Blue may be the sky, which on a clear,
endless summer day can appear liquid. Dickinson again alludes to alcohol consumption
with reference to inns where one would go to drink and socialize.

Continuing the metaphor of the inns, Dickinson labels the Bee as another creature
experiencing a like intoxication while drinking the nectar from a Foxglove flower, as she
might drink alcohol at an inn. The Landlords of the metaphorical inn, the unseen force
that causes the Bee and then Butterflies to stop drinking the nectar do not keep Dickinson
from her intoxication, rather she shall but drink the more!

The punctuation in this stanza is notable; although Dickinson uses the evolving metaphor of
drunkenness throughout the poem, she chooses to use quotation marks for the words
Landlords and drams regardless of the fact that the reader must know there are no
landlords selling tiny mugs of nectar to bees and butterflies from inside a foxglove flower.
Perhaps the quotation marks are a further indication of her level of intoxication as she feels it
necessary to spell out the metaphor for the reader rather than let the reader interpret it as thus.
Another significant use of punctuation in the third stanza is the use of the exclamation point
at the conclusion of the final line. This is the only use of punctuation other than the dash in
the poem which indicates of the great importance Dickinson puts on her ability to drink the
intoxicating substance although her fellow drinkers have ceased. The Bee and Butterflies
no longer have nectar to drink but what Dickinson drinks is unlimited and she cannot exhaust
the source.

In opposition to the finality of the last line of the third stanza, in the fourth Dickinson tells the
reader that she will stop drinking when the Seraphim angels and Saints see her intoxication.
The Seraphs will swing their snowy Hats, perhaps a reference to halos, and the Saints- -
to windows run - -, perhaps the windows of heaven itself. Dickinson labels herself as a
little Tippler or drunk, who will stop drinking only when the most holy see her Leaning
against the- -Sun- - the greatest height she can imagine, as close to heaven as one can be. In
this final stanza the reader understands the source of Dickinsons intoxication: it is the Air,
the Dew, the Molten Blue sky, the act of watching Bee and Butterflies drink nectar
from a flower. Participating in the beauty of these mundane observations has left Dickinson
feeling an intoxication that can only be matched by the temperament to which the occupants
of heaven are accustomed.

4. How appropriate it seems to read "I taste a liquor never brewed," in light of the final
minutes of the week's last video post, in which Professor Filreis asked the TAs whether their
readings of Dickinson, Whitman, and their poetic descendants, as well as their appreciation
for the same, seemed to be gendered. Here is a poem which demands attention to the
problem, or constraint, as we might call it in Dickinson's world, of gender.

In "I taste a liquor never brewed," we see the narrator inhabiting a man's world--that of the
drunk. Insofar as she is able to inhabit a man's world, she is also able to assume his power; in
this case, the power to forget oneself; to reel about under the blue skies of summer days
without fear of damaging her reputation. If we may assume that the narrator is also the poet,
then we may go further and assume that the power to forget oneself enables her, in the first
place, to leave the home at all.

And so here she is, drunk, debauched, reeling around under the influence of the finest
inebriate, and yet, probably unlike her masculine counterparts, fully within control of her own
directionality. She knows precisely where she's heading: past vats on rivers, past oceans and
the animal kingdom, past the temporally constrained seasons and even past angels and saints.
She's headed for the sun, and won't stop until she rests upon it, until she, the "little Tippler" is
borne up by that which no other living creature--or god of antiquity, for that matter--can stand
to touch, in an act so impressive that angels dance and saints run to see it occur.

So what has our narrator been drinking? Directly, she tells us that it is air and dew, which we
may read as representative of elemental life; she is drunk on being itself, then, but not in the
manner of the other sops, for her life consists of better stuff than theirs. Hers is the limitless
life of the mind. Once again, we find Dickinson dwelling in the house of possibility, and now
she's thrown open the chamber doors and let the light, the air, and seemingly all the world in.

Still, her embrace of creation is not in a Whitmanian sense. The narrator's pleasure here is
still exclusive, even of saints, who can only watch her carry on in the heights she's reached. "I
taste a liquor never brewed" is a triumphant poem celebrating ownership and power over
one's world that is at once clearly defined and without limits, boundaries, or constraints
(which would necessarily be the product of men). This is independence in its highest form; or
is it? The details lend a more complicated read.

"Taste" is an interesting verb to have chosen, as it describes not only an act but an amount. A
taste, in measurement, is far from the gluttonous undertaking that might cause a drunkenness
so complete and consuming as the one the narrator describes. She does not glut, she only
tastes. It seems both a reference to her superiority and also an acknowledgment of her
practical confinement. Though drunk, she is not quite free to drink; she may only indulge in a
taste of that air, as if stolen when the "Landlord" wasn't keeping watch. But, she tells us, a
taste will suffice, for her. In fact, just a taste will yield more than the lushest, most productive
agricultural land in all of Europe.
"Landlords" is another clue to her continued captivity as a woman, and, if we read
biographically, an agoraphobic. Here, the landlords are bartenders, and inn-keepers, but they
are still home owners, which she, Emily, is not. A landlord is still someone who technically
wields power over the likes of our narrator, and even if our narrator doesn't feel beholden to
that power, she cannot quite dismiss it. Still, she is a bit like a butterfly with her tiny dram of
metaphorical ale--she is transformed. But where the butterfly's transformation is complete,
our narrator's continues. She persists. She is ultimately beholden to no laws of man or actual
men.

Having perhaps said enough about the ways in which this poem, and Dickinson's work in
general, is a gendered artifact, it is worth mentioning that Dickinson's directional control
pertained not only to the politics of gender, but to writing itself. Whereas in poems we've
read previously, she's indicated her work and her presence on the page with the word "this,"
here we have an even more individualistic choice: "am I," offset as it is by dashes, seems to
indicate strongly that the narrator is the author, and a biographical reading makes this
difficult not to assume. As well, we can read into the grammar. "Inebriate of air--am I--" says
Dickinson, and the verb tense, as well as the pronoun, seems relevant. Not just anyone, but I.
Not just any time, but now, and in this moment; in other words, in the moment of writing the
poem. Here is the world's greatest inebriate, says Dickinson, in this poem as in so many
others. It is this.

5. Close Reading of a Poem A short Essay

Martin McKenna

#214 - I taste a liquor never Brewed

By Emily Dickinson (1830-1836)

The Poem I will be close reading was originally Untitled by Dickinson, numbered 214 in her
vast personal collection. This may reinforce her unease to publish, her possibly lack of self-
conviction or belief, but certainly would be misplaced in my view as this is an excellent poem
from a very high standard poet.

This poem on first reading is a very celebratory poem, very reverent in stance and almost
prayer-like in construct. It has a timeless quality as I see neither contemporary fault nor vast
leaps for understanding of Nineteenth century Massachusetts required, which I think only ads
to the eternal or infinite enjoyment which this poem focuses the reader upon.

The poetic rhyme is of each alternate line in an A,B,C,B pattern repeated for four verses, with
one slant rhyme in the first verse Pearl as to Alcohol. It eases the read for the invited
giving off a easy and pleasant flow for the messages she portrays. As with all Dickinson
poems she has employed the use of the dash as multi-purpose punctuation, alluding to many
connotations and possibilities for varied understanding.

Upon first reading, my impressions are of an intrinsic, ethereal respect for nature and the poet
being inebriated by nature, high on life or drunk on the beauty at large again adding to my
understanding of her allusion of an eternal.
Given her comparison or perhaps wish to know the taste liquor, its draw and be able to
compare it to something more acceptable, Dickinson here pits an almost gaudy perception
of alcohol drank from overly-adorned receptacles and poor comparison of even the finest
brewers compare to nature.

Again, during my first reading she continues to solidify her aversion by using the term
Debauchee, almost a derogatory use for these who partake, offering a better and more
innocent or puritanical version of enjoyment found outside the bars and salons of
intoxication.

I agree with her notions of natural beauty in the second and third verses, it is indeed
intoxicating and can be as rewarding as any high, more so from alcohol. One particular
enjoyment I found was her expert eye with the Bee.

I know bees can become inebriated on nectar which has fermented in the flower, or indeed
the odd pint-glass. The hive in turn employ bouncer bees to expel these drunks as they would
jostle with others whilst inebriated and upset the overall health of the hive. So given her
extensive gardening experience I could expect Dickinson to know this fact of nature.

Another sense I receive from my first reading is the opposition she has drawn between an
almost spiritual or religious sense she regards the essence of true beauty with, in comparison
to the earthly pleasures of the flesh, i.e. drinking or sensory pleasure itself.

I could see she could even travel as far with this juxtaposition as comparing the enjoyment of
life when alive in comparison to a possible sense of nothing after, as she ironically places her
saints and seraphs on earth, at the windows of her soul in hats and eager to hear her summary.

As she celebrates nature in all its inebriating beauty, she seems to employ an almost eternal
or infinite tone for her celebration, lending an other-worldliness or religious proportion. I
picked up on her allusion to this eternal more-so in the final verse to cycle around to the
first verse and discuss a fiction.

It is also possible to perceive the poem in an ironic light, the Saints and Angels she mentions
may not run to the windows to see. It is also possible there exist no Earthly Saints or
Seraphs? Again this also portray my personal perceptions rather than hers, proving what a
solid function her craft actually is, even after a negative interpretation.

On a positive perspective, and what is more likely or hopeful is what this final verse could
reveal. Saints and Angels agreeing with her and actively sharing in the celebration of her joy
and total inebriation toward nature. Many of her poems do end with a positive / negative
duality, in my mind alongside. A stunning analysis of religion and the self, as seen in I
Dwell In Possibility.

CLOSE READING

Stanza I

I taste a liquor never brewed

From Tankards scooped in Pearl --

This line initially threw me I as I read into the negative first of. Upon further inspection I
think she is relating her Tankards scooped from Pearl as a positive, penultimate and raising
them to mythological status among flasks or normal drinking vessels. So she is relating the
experience of liquor never tasted to some meta-physical object never created. To continue to
the next line, I think the Rhine valley is famous for white wines, as well as her allusion she
created in my mind to the German beer houses, foam of beer or white wine both naturally
produced and being both beautiful nature studies, lead me to another possible connection for
choosing the colour pearl. I would assume grapes were expensive in that time, a luxury so I
will go with wine to compliment her luxurious chalice, perhaps...

Not all the Vats upon the Rhine

Yield such an alcohol!

I think this line firstly ends in the proper noun so Rhine may be not a true Dickinson
emphasis, though does transport us to the Rhine river and surrounding areas in Germany, of
course famous for its beers and wines. So the metaphor continues in negative form against
brash beer drinkers as opposed to other forms of alcoholism. I could imagine it referring to
wines also, I found another edition of the poem stating Not all the Frankfurt Berries
pertaining to this, but I guess the initial assumption is of men in pubs, particularly the loutish
beer drinkers. The word Vat has Germanic roots, and is synonymous with the word Keg, also
leading to my wonder at Beer. However wine is closer in clarification to liquor than beer so I
am still open to both.

Stanza II

Inebriate of Air -- am I

Here she is certainly drunk, and how wonderfully so. The capitalised word Air gets two
dashes, mid line for extra-special emphasis. Dickinson is saying, just to breathe, to be alive
amid summer in her wondrous garden, she chooses air to capitalise her natural high, this
simple and abundant substance, reasoning for her addiction to being alive. Inebriate can lend
both positive and negative images also. I get a sense that maybe Death is not too far from her
thoughts. I suppose she chose Air rather than Oxygen here as a mix of the gasses, alluding to
the very Air, i.e. the character of Summer, the stir on the atmosphere, the over-head and
heavenly space, or simply the portrayal of publication, to air her poetic inebriation to all.

And Debauchee of Dew

Debauchee is a rather negative term spun on its head for a positive light, a scoundrel or an
addict of the senses, a French word which puts me in mind of Rimbaud or Baudelaire. Dew
itself is a wonderfully strange choice as it conjures imagery in my mind of dew forming on
petals and leaves at night. This night-time occurrence or very early morning is an excessive
indulgence for Dickinson, proves the lengths she travels to have dew debauched. This
addictive trait places me in mind of an Irish term hair of the dog that bit you, particular to
early morning cure for the inevitable hangover, through study of the poem I do note there is
no afterward, no hang-over present.

Dickinson is so eager for her high she is out collecting in the early morning or worse,
possibly the dead of night! A beautiful turn of phrase I thought. Dew also holds the weight of
innocence within it, or certainly the purity of the freshest, new water. I also see a connection
with tears, perhaps emphasising the sadness and misery of alcoholism, her own sadness or
very possibly the blood, sweat and tears of her work which goes into maintaining her
wondrous garden. She seems to be physically alluding to being a drunk man, staggering
through the atmosphere toward something here, led into the next, lone capital...

Reeling -- thro endless summer days --

From inns of Molten Blue --

Reeling is an important word here, it portrays Dickinson enjoying the state, rhyming off a
reference to song with its important placement alone, separated by two dashes, or perhaps
reflective of her unwound state from being uptight. Relaxation is inferred but with a little
self-scolding and a connotation of head-spun enjoyment. Thro (as with the craft of poetry)
reminds us we are in a poem with this compression; the days seem endless for her summer,
both positive and negative. I read more of a time flies when youre having fun ethos rather
than a negative endless, so this feels like an assertion of a wish. But more importantly it links
to the action of the bee, the main clause of the next stanza.

The inns, rather than bars or taverns are of a molten blue. Firstly I would assume volcano or
lava here, but why molten? I think its more about melting the clouds of the other seasons
into one brilliant azure or cerulean. Referring maybe to the heat of the sun, displacing the
clouds during summer; the cloud link possibly to the Seraphs hats later. So molten blue is
the signal for opening time, the bars are flowers for the (masculine) bees and
(feminine)butterflies to frequent, closing time being winter.

Stanza III

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee

Out of the Foxglove's door

When Butterflies -- renounce their "drams" --

I shall but drink the more!

I would refer to my previous statement on the bee and retract it completely! On first reading I
had said the hive expel the drunken bee, but Dickinson refers to the flower, the foxglove. I
know petals can close, but a foxglove does not. So expelling is perhaps further implied
figuratively here rather than simply closing of petals. The sunny season of summer is further
backed up by the emergence of these flowers and insects, in stark contrast I suppose to
Winter (life and perceived death). It may be useful to say also, Bees labour for the good of
the flower, perhaps a paradox spotted by Dickinson to refer to the Landlord expelling the
drunk, the trades symbiotic lifeline.

The loving sense directed toward the entire ecosystem has now become equipped with
personification and human trait, another gentle joy to read. If Foxgloves have Landlords or
managers inside, I wonder who the house band could be, or if Shakespeares Rose held
palatial status if a social culture structure is implied. I can easily picture bees sipping juniper
juice, under invite only.

The symbolism opens a new world of appreciation and associations for me. Huxley had
experienced his flowers ... brimming under the weight of their own significance ... in his
Doors of Perception; also under the influence, but Dickinson reaches classical beauty and her
true appreciation for such without partaking.

For me, it echoes indeed many of the great fiction writers; from Louis Carrolls Alice in
wonderland to Swifts giant and Lilliputians in Gullivers Travels. Amazingly, by placing the
important word landlord in inverted commas or speech marks she invokes the fictional, or
indeed opens the poem to the readers imaginarium. Capitalisation here emphasises this
personification of Landlord, Bee and even Foxglove (again possibly another proper noun).

With the term Foxglove, it also conjures up a notion there may exist crafty little secrets
Dickinson only allows the fair readers in upon. The very flower itself is feminine in look,
and to have Landlords here there is an allusion to perhaps something more. Even the
physiology of the flower itself, being stacked flutes evokes a scene of busy bars or sharing
many glasses (appearance of wine glasses) around tables.

Another pun here is the Foxgloves Landlord expelling the bee, the action it has to go through
to get out of the elongated flower perhaps, in stark comparison to the graceful or wise
butterfly evolving itself a long tongue to take only small drams and in temperance never
expelled, leaving perhaps with a graceful flutter. Landlord also representing the onset of
winter over the poets sense of timelessness.

I do perceive a clear class and gender distinction or definition, the bee as male, a working
class correlation, hard at work and hard at play. The graceful butterfly female, possibly of
higher social status, elegant in temperance.

The poet says she will drink the more, she will enjoy more on the side of the bee, alluding to
her hard work on the craft of poetry, possibly even out-drinking both parallel with the
closing of the flower versus her eternal (in comparison to the timeframes experiences by the
bee / butterfly) enjoyment of soul-enriching life as a poet and nature lover. She exudes a great
understanding of her study of drinking habits. Final code to crack could be the Foxgloves
poisonous affect on humans, possibly her choice to illustrate alcohol is a toxin.

Stanza IV

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats --

And Saints -- to windows run --

Leaning against the -- Sun --

The final stanza of the poem is meant to be taken with the previous verse opening with the
word Till and remained for me a puzzling conundrum. If we start with the Seraphs (from
Miltons Seraphim the highest order of Angels / or the burning one ?sun) the poem pits nature
against religion. The snowy hats could mean a number of things, literally hats at her welcome
into presumed heaven, or taken in the context of nature, freeze from molten blue to winter
white. Clouds of winter, or show capped trees (emulating the foxglove shape), the ground
capped in the snows of winter. Another possible being the spring hats of snowdrops, the first
flower of spring, signalling the rebirth of life in her garden once more.

Alliterative use of the word Saints follows, Dickinson implies their wish to capture some
heavenly vista, invoking her poet licence to report nature to these heavenly beings since their
existence is so far from the natural world. Her joy implicit, she portrays would be music to
their ears. This would indicate a fair God figure also, approving of her pleasures of the flesh,
her natural drunkenness or enjoyment for true and pure beauty.

The stanza and poem ends with another very powerful punch, rendering us drunk. Dickinson
the little tippler (no longer the serious poet, but a fun-clad figure) displays her innocence and
drunkenness by leaning against the sun. What an image!

Reflective of the drinker pausing in the street of life to enjoy time, the memory of
drunkenness and in Dickinsons case her time in nature. The sun of course, a powerful
allusion to God. Being the source of all life and a burning one, has now become a close and
personal friend. A feeling here our enjoyment for the day is is drawing close to an ending; the
sun is setting on her day.

It seems possible Seraphs and Saints would wish to tip their hats or rush to the windows to
see the poet tipsy against the lamppost of the setting sun, Dickinson has again given
something all the more beautiful and innocent for it.

I find her almost comparing an imagined physical reality (her notion of drunkenness versus
nature) with a meta-physical imagination (Heaven versus nature). The poet in possession of
surpassing experiences of something so glorious but so simple as Summer / Nature. A
surprisingly pleasant opposition to inebriation, perhaps a warning against atheism. Seraphs
and Saints would possibly not rush as fast we would like to see us, but she has now given us
hope of redemption or a key to do so.

In conclusion, this is a plain and innocent enjoyment of Summer / nature / her wondrous
garden / and even her skills of observation. There is a warning and lesson in the poem on
subject of innocence, religion and poetry itself. Her omnipotence and strong meta-poetic
consciousness is hidden in the likes of the word Air for example.

What I found most interesting is the notion of Dickinson allowing herself to take on the
persona of someone entirely different in order to empathise with and perhaps gentle guide her
receipt of this intended message of opposition and education.
Finally, while reading of her garden, the poet has presented herself as being very godlike.
God the gardener; these seasons could be her closest seraphs and saints aiding her work. My
final thought she could be alluding to in her ecstatically drunk state of creativity, she may
ultimate be drunk on power, which in my opinion she truly deserves.