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User Rating:
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5.9
/10
(25 votes)
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I killed them, but they would not die.
Yea! all the day and all the night
For them I could not rest or sleep,
Nor guard from them nor hide in flight.
Then in my agony I turned
And made my hands red in their gore.
In vain - for faster than I slew
They rose more cruel than before.
I killed and killed with slaughter mad;
I killed till all my strength was gone.
And still they rose to torture me,
For Devils only die in fun.
I used to think the Devil hid
In women's smiles and wine's carouse.
I called him Satan, Balzebub.
But now I call him, dirty louse.
Isaac Rosenberg
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: rose, fun, women, strength, red, sleep, night, woman, smile
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Comments about this poem (The Immortals
by
Isaac Rosenberg
) |
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