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for i have no red rose to give her〃； and he flung himself down on
the grass； and buried his face in his hands； and wept。
〃why is he weeping？〃 asked a little green lizard； as he ran past
him with his tail in the air。
〃why； indeed？〃 said a butterfly； who was fluttering about after a
sunbeam。
〃why； indeed？〃 whispered a daisy to his neighbour； in a soft； low
voice。
〃he is weeping for a red rose；〃 said the nightingale。
〃for a red rose？〃 they cried； 〃how very ridiculous！〃 and the little
lizard； who was something of a cynic； laughed outright。
but the nightingale understood the secret of the students sorrow；
and she sat silent in the oak…tree； and thought about the mystery
of love。
suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight； and soared into the
air。 she passed through the grove like a shadow； and like a shadow
she sailed across the garden。
in the centre of the grass…plot was standing a beautiful rose…tree；
and when she saw it she flew over to it； and lit upon a spray。
〃give me a red rose；〃 she cried； 〃and i will sing you my sweetest
song。〃
but the tree shook its head。
〃my roses are white；〃 it answered； 〃as white as the foam of the
sea； and whiter than the snow upon the mountain。 but go to my
brother who grows round the old sun…dial； and perhaps he will give
you what you want。〃
so the nightingale flew over to the rose…tree that was growing
round the old sun…dial。
〃give me a red rose；〃 she cried； 〃and i will sing you my sweetest
song。〃
but the tree shook its head。
〃my roses are yellow；〃 it answered； 〃as yellow as the hair of the
mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne； and yellower than the
daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower es with his
scythe。 but go to my brother who grows beneath the students
window； and perhaps he will give you what you want。〃
so the nightingale flew over to the rose…tree that was growing
beneath the students window。
〃give me a red rose；〃 she cried； 〃and i will sing you my sweetest
song。〃
but the tree shook its head。
〃my roses are red；〃 it answered； 〃as red as the feet of the dove；
and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the
ocean…cavern。 but the winter has chilled my veins； and the frost
has nipped my buds； and the storm has broken my branches； and i
shall have no roses at all this year。〃
〃one red rose is all i want；〃 cried the nightingale； 〃only one red
rose！ is there no way by which i can get it？〃
〃there is away；〃 answered the tree； 〃but it is so terrible that i
dare not tell it to you。〃
〃tell it to me；〃 said the nightingale； 〃i am not afraid。〃
〃if you want a red rose；〃 said the tree； 〃you must build it out of
music by moonlight； and stain it with your own hearts…blood。 you
must sing to me with your breast against a thorn。 all night long
you must sing to me； and the thorn must pierce your heart； and your
life…blood must flow into my veins； and bee mine。〃
〃death is a great price to pay for a red rose；〃 cried the
nightingale； 〃and life is very dear to all。 it is pleasant to sit
in the green wood； and to watch the sun in his chariot of gold； and
the moon in her chariot of pearl。 sweet is the scent of the
hawthorn； and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley； and
the heather that blows on the hill。 yet love is better than life；
and what is the heart of a bird pared to the heart of a man？〃
so she spread her brown wings for flight； and soared into the air。
she swept over the garden like a shadow； and like a shadow she
sailed through the grove。
the young student was still lying on the grass； where she had left
him； and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes。
〃be happy；〃 cried the nightingale； 〃be happy； you shall have your
red rose。 i will build it out of music by moonlight； and stain it
with my own hearts…blood。 all that i ask of you in return is that
you will be a true lover； for love is wiser than philosophy； though
she is wise； and mightier than power； though he is mighty。 flame…
coloured are his wings； and coloured like flame is his body。 his
lips are sweet as honey； and his breath is like frankincense。〃
the student looked up from the grass； and listened； but he could
not understand what the nightingale was saying to him； for he only
knew the things that are written down in books。
but the oak…tree understood； and felt sad； for he was very fond of
the little nightingale who had built her nest in his branches。
〃sing me one last song；〃 he whispered； 〃i shall feel very lonely
when you are gone。〃
so the nightingale sang to the oak…tree； and her voice was like
water bubbling from a silver jar。
when she had finished her song the student got up； and pulled a
note…book and a lead…pencil out of his pocket。
〃she has form；〃 he said to himself； as he walked away through the
grove … 〃that cannot be denied to her； but has she got feeling？ i
am afraid not。 in fact； she is like most artists； she is all
style； without any sincerity。 she would not sacrifice herself for
others。 she thinks merely of music； and everybody knows that the
arts are selfish。 still； it must be admitted that she has some
beautiful notes in her voice。 what a pity it is that they do not
mean anything； or do any practical good。〃 and he went into his
room； and lay down on his little pallet…bed； and began to think of
his love； and； after a time； he fell asleep。
and when the moon shone in the heavens the nightingale flew to the
rose…tree； and set her breast against the thorn。 all night long
she sang with her breast against the thorn； and the cold crystal
moon leaned down and listened。 all night long she sang； and the
thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast； and her life…blood
ebbed away from her。
she sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a
girl。 and on the top…most spray of the rose…tree there blossomed a
marvellous rose； petal following petal； as song followed song。
pale was it； at first； as the mist that hangs over the river … pale
as the feet of the morning； and silver as the wings of the dawn。
as the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver； as the shadow of a
rose in a water…pool； so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost
spray of the tree。
but the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the
thorn。 〃press closer； little nightingale；〃 cried the tree； 〃or the
day will e before the rose is finished。〃
so the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn； and louder and
louder grew her song； for she sang of the birth of passion in the
soul of a man and a maid。
and a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose； like
the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of
the bride。 but the thorn had not yet reached her heart； so the
roses heart remained white； for only a nightingales hearts…blood
can crimson the heart of a rose。
and the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the
thorn。 〃press closer； little nightingale；〃 cried the tree； 〃or the