Emily Dickinson

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'Tis but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake read more

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 mail of anguish,
In which its cautious arm
Lest anybody spy the blood
And, you're hurt exclaim.

Anger as soon as fed is dead — 'Tis starving makes it fat.

Anger as soon as fed is dead — 'Tis starving makes it fat.

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate.

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate.

Where thou art, that is home.

Where thou art, that is home.

The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,--
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The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,--
And that's the skies!