A Wounded Deer—leaps highest

165 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 the Mail of Anguish In which it Cautious Arm, Lest anybody spy the blood And "you're hurt" exclaim!