FOUL-FEATHERED and scald-necked,
They sit in evil state;
Raw marks upon their breasts
As on men's wearing chains.
Impure, though they may plunge
Into the morning's springs,
And spirit-dulled, though they
Command the heaven's heights.
Angels of foulness, ye,
So fierce against the dead!
Sloth on your muffled wings,
And speed within your eyes!
