A Wounded Deer
~
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 caution arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And Youre hurt exclaim!
From:
Part One: Life.Dickinson, Emily. 1924. Complete Poems
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