A Wounded Deer — leaps highest

A Wounded Deer — leaps highest

A Wounded Deer — leaps highest —
I’ve heard the Hunter tell —
‘Tis 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!

~ Emily Dickinson

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