by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < A Word
Adrift! A little boat adrift! > > >
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!
< < < A Word
Adrift! A little boat adrift! > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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