Emily Dickinson

Dec. 10, 1830 - May 15, 1886


A wounded deer leaps highest...

by Emily Dickinson

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


Copyright 1890
Little, Brown, And Company, Boston