I
was anger 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.
===by
William Blake ===
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