A wounded deer leaps highest...
by Emily Dickinson
A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'T is but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.
The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs:
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!
Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it cautious arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And You're hurt
exclaim!
Source:
PoemsCopyright 1890
Little, Brown, And Company, Boston