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,