The Immortals

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.

Spring

I walk and wonder
To hear the birds sing,
Without you my lady
How can there be Spring?
I see the pink blossoms
That slept for a year;
But who could have woke them,
While you were not near?

Birds sing to the blossoms;
Blind, dreaming your pink,
These blush to the songsters,
Your music they think.
So well had you taught them,
To look and to sing;
Your bloom and your music;
The ways of the Spring.