dickinson’s deer poetry
written on Tuesday, January 16th, 2007
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
Emily Dickinson
found already a long time ago on the net
i am just for a night back out of the cave of death, to have dinner with pieter in his house in bruxelles, pieter tries his act that i feel again at home among the living….