A wounded Deer - leaps highest
P. Wehage
A wounded Deer - leaps highest -
I've heard the Hunter tell -
'Tis but the extasy 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!