"A wounded deer leaps highest"

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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)

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