I was angry with my friend: / I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
The poem goes on that anger left unspoken against a foe grows, until it bears “an apple bright” that the foe steals and eats. It ends with the foe found dead under the tree.
O rose, thou art sick! / The invisible worm, / That flies in the night, / In the howling storm,
Piping down the valleys wild, / Piping songs of pleasant glee, / On a cloud I saw a child, / And he laughing said to me:
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, / In the forests of the night;
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.
A house divided against itself cannot stand.
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, / The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.