I told my wrath¹， my wrath did end.

    I was angry with my foe²：

    I told it not， my wrath did grow.

    And I water'd it in fears，

    Night and morning with my tears；

    And I sunnèd it with smiles，

    And with soft deceitful wiles³.

    And it grew both day and night，

    Till it bore an apple bright；

    And my foe beheld⁴ it shine，

    And he knew that it was mine，

    And into my garden stole

    When the night had veil'd the pole：

    In the morning glad I see

    My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.