A very satisfying ending to one of the most riveting book of poems (Berryman’s Sonnets) I’ve read:
(the end of Sonnet 115)The weather’s changing. This morning was cold, as I made for the grove, without expectation, some hundred sonnets in my pocket, old, to read her if she came. Presently the sun yellowed the pines & my lady came not in blue jeans & a sweater. I sat down & wrote.