Ends by: Robert Frost
Loud talk in the overlighted house
That made us stumble past.
Oh, there had once been night the first,
But this was night the last.
Of all the things he might have said,
Sincere or insincere,
He never said she wasn't young.
And hadn't been his dear.
Oh, some as soon would throw it all
As throw it part away.
And some will say all sorts of things,
But some mean what they say.
PERIL OF HOPE