The Immortals

I killed them, but they would not die. Yea, all the day and all the night For them I could not rest nor 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 for 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.