A wounded deer leaps highest,

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 cautious arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "You`re hurt" exclaim!