Everyone has a favorite poem, and I’m pretty sure that the choice says something about the person. This is my favorite poem ever, as much as I don’t want it to be.
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
It’s not that I want those that I am angry with to be poisoned, but I do like reading about grudges.