“A Poison Tree” by William Blake
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.
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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