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A wounded deer leaps highest
by Emily  Dickinson

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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Poem ID: 8037   Poem Posted: 6/13/1999
Viewed: 166598  Voted On: 1666  E-mailed: 302  Commented On: 14
 
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