Whan that Aprilly with hise shoures soote
The droghte of March had perced to the roote,
I druv a motor thro' Aprilly's bliz
Somme forty mile, and dam neere lyke to friz.
by Dorothy ParkerAnd if my heart be scarred and burned,
The safer, I, for all I learned;
The calmer, I, to see it true
That ways of love are never new-
The love that sets you daft and dazed