I was angry with my friend I told my wrath, my wrath did end 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 my 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
When the night had veiled the pole In the morning, glad, I see My foe outstretched beneath the tree