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