Pretentiousness., My Smile is a Rifle: A Poison Tree

My Smile is a Rifle: A Poison Tree - William Blake, 1794 »

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.

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And I water’d it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears,

And I sunn’d it in smiles

And in soft deceitful wiles.

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And it grew both day and night

‘Til it bore an apple bright,

And my foe beheld its shine,

And he knew that it was mine

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And into my garden stole,

When the night had veiled the pole.

In the morning, glad I see,

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.