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A Wounded Deer

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

Home :: Poetry :: Ghosts of Pain (2) :: A Wounded Deer

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