Half-dead with rage and fasting.

III.

I[[86]] feel! the growing down descends,

Like goose-skin, to my fingers’ ends—

Each nail becomes a feather:

My cropp’d head[[87]] waves with sudden plumes,

Which erst (like Bedford’s, or his groom’s)

Unpowder’d, braved the weather.[[88]]

IV.

I mount, I mount into the sky,