A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend: I was angry with my foe: And I watered it in fears, And I sunned it with smiles, And it grew both day and night, And my foe beheld it shine. And into my garden stole In the morning glad I see I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I told it not, my wrath did grow. Night and morning with my tears; And with soft deceitful wiles. Till it bore an apple bright. And he knew that it was mine, When the night had veiled the pole; My foe outstretched beneath the tree. (William Blake).