A Poison Tree

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.

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;

And I sunned it with 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.

And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole;

In the morning glad I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

(William Blake, un type que j'aurais adoré rencontrer. Picture to follow in a few hours.)

(Sinon, oui, oh toi incrédule lecteur, bien vu : le titre n'a rien à voir avec le contenant. J'allais vous écrire totalement autre chose mais Blake m'est venu en tête et quand la poésie se manifeste, on ne refuse pas. Et puis j'avais oublié ce que je voulais écrire.)