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