Only we burn that love was meant to spend,
And this we burn, that each life hath its end;
Therefore, O Youth, snatch all thy happiness.
[Descends slowly; passes out into the street]
[Leonardo da Vinci speaks]
There's truth in every line that song hath sung.
The hand that wrote it's twelve years turned to
dust,
The brain's become a hollow nothingness—
A little grayness lying in a skull;