A wounded Deer – leaps highest –
Emily Dickinson

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!