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Poem	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!
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