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 mail of anguish,
In which its cautious arm
Lest anybody spy the blood
And, “you’re hurt” exclaim

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