165 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!SourceThe script ran 0 seconds.
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