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
Nights and mornings with my tears
And I sunned wit 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 intomy garden stole
Wherether night had veil the pole
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree
