A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest

“Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me.”

Sigmund Freud

A wounded deer leaps highest,

I’ve heard the hunter tell.

’Tis 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.

 

Emily Dickinson

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s