Here you will find the Poem The Immortals of poet 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.