"I was angry at my friend
I told my wrath, my wrath did end
I was angry at my foe
I told it not,  my wrath did grow

And I watered it with my fears
night and morning with my tears
and I sunned it with my smiles
and 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 upveiled the pole
in morning glad I see
my foe outstretched beneath the tree."

- William Blake