Isaac Rosenberg

(25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918 / Bristol / England)

The Immortals - Poem by Isaac Rosenberg

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.


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Read poems about / on: rose, fun, women, strength, red, sleep, night, woman, smile



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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