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.
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