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Continue to ChatA 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 mail of anguish, in which its cautious arm lest anybody spy the blood and, you're hurt exclaim. - https://www.relicsworld.com/emily-dickinson/a-wounded-deer-leaps-highest-ive-heard-the-hunter-tell-tis-author-emily-dickinson