"A wounded deer leaps highest"

VIII.

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 cautions arm, Lest anybody spy the blood And "You're hurt" exclaim !

 

from Poems by Emily Dickinson (1890)
Almost	"The heart asks pleasure first"

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