I was angry with my
friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did
end.
I was angry with my
foe:
I told it not, my wrath did
grow.
And I watered it in
fears,
Night and morning with my
tears:
And I sunned it with
smiles,
And with soft deceitful
wiles.
And it grew both day and
night.
Till it bore an apple
bright.
And my foe beheld it
shine,
And he knew that it was
mine.
And into my garden
stole,
When the night had veiled the
pole;
In the morning glad I
see;
My foe outstretched beneath the
tree.