Emily Dickinson

A wounded Deer - leaps highest -

165 A wounded Deer - leaps highest - I've heard the Hunter tell - 'Tis but the Extasy 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!