A Wounded Deer

~
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 caution arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And Youre hurt exclaim!