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 the garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.