I'll go to her. How can I longer wait?
Her nearer presence sets my blood aflame;
I'll seize my flower . . .
[Commences to descend the stairway, then pauses]
Ah, the song again!
[Someone sings in the street below]
Let naught of fear Youth's laughing steps delay,
Aye, gather gladness; pluck it while ye may—
We burn not if To-morrow curse or Hess.
Who cares—one red bud more, one white bud less?