Emily Dickinson – A Wounded Deer


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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!

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