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 cautions arm,
- Lest anybody spy the blood
- And "You're hurt" exclaim!