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