A wounded deer leaps highest 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       Hope is a Thing With Feathers Hope is a thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings a tune without words And never stops at all. And sweetest, in the gale, is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That keeps so many warm. I?ve heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity It ask a crumb of me.