‘She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses’
‘but in all my garden there is no red rose’ cried the young Student
from her nest in the holm-oak tree the nightingale heard him
and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered

‘No red rose in all my garden!’ he cried
and his beautiful eyes filled with tears
‘On what little things does happiness depend!’
‘I have read all that the wise men have written’
‘all the secrets of philosophy are mine’
‘yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched’

‘Here at last is a true lover,’ said the nightingale
‘Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not’
‘Night after night have I told his story to the stars’
‘and now I see him’

‘His hair is as dark as the hyacinth-blossom’
‘and his lips are as red as the rose of his desire’
‘but passion has made his face like pale Ivory’
‘and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow’

‘The Prince has organized a ball tomorrow,’ said the young student
‘and my love will be there’
‘If I bring her a red rose, she will dance with me’
‘If I bring her a red rose, I will hold her in my arms’
‘and she will lean her head upon my shoulder’
‘and her hand will be clasped in mine’

‘But there is no red rose in my garden’
‘so I will sit lonely’
‘and she will go past me’
‘She will have no heed of me’
‘and my heart will break’

‘Here indeed is the true lover,’ said the nightingale
‘What I sing of he suffers’
‘what is joy to me is pain to him’
‘Surely love is a wonderful thing’
‘love is more precious than emeralds’

‘and love is dearer than fine opals’
‘Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy love’
‘nor is love sold in the market-place’
‘love can not be bought from merchants’
‘nor can love be weighed on a balance for gold’

‘The musicians will sit in their gallery,’ said the young student
‘and they will play upon their stringed instruments’
‘and my love will dance to the sound of the harp’
‘and she will dance to the sound of the violin’
‘She will dance so lightly her feet won’t touch the floor’

‘and the courtiers will throng round her’
‘but she will not dance with me’
‘because I have no red rose to give her’
he flung himself down on the grass
and he buried his face in his hands and wept

‘Why is he weeping?’ asked a little Green Lizard
while he ran past with his tail in the air
‘Why indeed?’ said a Butterfly
while he 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 exclaimed
‘how very ridiculous!’
and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright

But the nightingale understood the secret of the student’s sorrow
and she sat silent in the oak-tree
and she thought about the mystery of love
Suddenly she spread her brown wings
and she 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 garden was a beautiful rose-tree
and when she saw the rose-tree, she flew over to it
and she perched upon a twig

‘Give me a red rose,’ she cried
‘give me a red rose and I will sing you my sweetest song’
But the Tree shook its head
‘My roses are white,’ the rose-tree 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’
‘perhaps he will give you what you want’

So the nightingale flew over to his brother
the rose-tree growing round the old sun-dial
‘Give me a red rose,’ she cried
‘give me a red rose and I will sing you my sweetest song’
But the rose-tree shook its head
‘My roses are yellow,’ the rose-tree answered

‘as yellow as the hair of a mermaid’
‘and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow’
‘before the mower comes with his scythe’
‘but go to my brother who grows beneath the student’s window’
‘and perhaps he will give you what you want’

So the nightingale flew over to his brother
the rose-tree growing beneath the student’s window
‘give me a red rose,’ she cried
‘give me a red rose and I will sing you my sweetest song’
But the rose-tree shook its head

‘My roses are red,’ the rose-tree answered
‘as red as the feet of the dove’
‘and redder than the great fans of coral’
‘the corals that sway 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
‘Is there no way by which I can get it?’
‘There is a way’ answered the rose-tree’
‘but it is so terrible that I dare not tell you’
‘Tell it to me’ said the nightingale
‘I am not afraid’

‘If you want a red rose,’ said the rose-tree
‘if you want a red rose you must build the rose out of music’
‘while the moonlight shines upon you’
‘and you must stain the rose with your own heart’s blood’

‘You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn’
‘All night long you must sing to me’
‘the thorn must pierce your heart’
‘your life-blood must flow into my veins’
‘and your life-blood must become my own’

‘Death is a high price to pay for a red rose,’ cried the nightingale
‘life is very dear to all’
‘It is pleasant to sit in the green wood’
‘it is nice to watch the sun in his chariot of gold’
‘and it is nice to watch the moon in her chariot of pearl’

‘sweet is the scent of the hawthorn’
‘sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley’
‘and sweet is the heather that blows on the hill’
‘Yet love is better than life’

‘and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?’
So she spread her brown wings for flight
and she 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 in the garden
and his tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes
‘Be happy,’ cried the nightingale
‘you shall have your red rose’
‘I will make your rose out of music’
‘while the moonlight shines upon me’

‘and I will stain your rose with my own heart’s blood’
‘All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover’
‘because love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise’
‘and love is mightier than power, though he is mighty’

‘flame-coloured are his wings’
‘and coloured like flame is his body’
‘His lips are as sweet as honey’
‘and his breath is like frankincense’

The Student looked up from the grass
and he listened to the nightingale
but he could not understand what she was saying
because he only knew what he had read in books
But the Oak-tree understood, and he felt sad

he was very fond of the little nightingale
because she had built her nest in his branches
‘Sing one last song for me,’ 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 he pulled out a note-book
and he found a lead-pencil in his pocket
‘She has form,’ he said to himself
‘that she has form cannot be denied to her’
‘but does she have feeling?’
‘I am afraid she has no feeling’

‘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’
‘it’s a pity her song does not mean anything’
‘and it’s a pity her song is not useful’
And he went into his room
and he lay down on his little pallet-bed
and he began to think of his love until he fell asleep

And when the moon shone in the heavens the nightingale flew to the Rose-tree
and she 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

First she sang of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl
And on the topmost branch of the rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose
petal followed petal, as song followed song
At first the rose was still pale

as pale as the mist that hangs over the river
as pale as the feet of the morning
and as silver as the wings of dawn
As pale the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver
as pale as the shadow of a rose in a pool of water

But the Tree cried to the nightingale;
‘Press closer, little nightingale, or the day will come before the rose is finished’
So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn
and her song grew louder and louder
because she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid

And the leaves of the rose flushed a delicate pink
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 rose’s heart remained white
because only a nightingale’s blood can crimson the heart of a rose

And the Tree cried to the nightingale;
‘Press closer, little nightingale, or the day will come before the rose is finished’
So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn
and the thorn touched her heart
and a fierce pang of pain shot through her

Bitter, bitter was the pain
and wilder and wilder grew her song
because she sang of the love that is perfected by death
she sang of the love that does not die in life
she sang of the love that does not die in the tomb
And the marvellous rose became crimson like the rose of the eastern sky
Crimson was the girdle of petals
as crimson as a ruby was the heart

But the nightingale’s voice grew fainter
and her little wings began to beat
and a film came over her eyes
fainter and fainter grew her song
and she felt something choking her in her throat
then she gave one last burst of music

the white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn
and she lingered in the sky
The red rose heard it
and the rose trembled with ecstasy
and the rose opened its petals to the cold morning air

Echo carried it to her purple cavern in the hills
and it woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams
It floated through the reeds of the river
and the rivers carried its message to the sea

‘Look, look!’ cried the Tree
‘the rose is finished now’
but the nightingale made no answer
for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart

And at noon the student opened his window and looked out
‘What a wonderful piece of luck!’ he cried
‘here is a red rose!’
‘I have never seen any rose like it’
‘It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name’
he leaned down and plucked the rose
then he ran up to the professor’s house with the rose in his hand

The professor’s daughter was sitting in the doorway
she was winding blue silk on a reel
and her little dog was lying at her feet
‘You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose’
‘Here is the reddest rose in all the world’
‘You will wear it tonight, next your heart’
‘While we dance together it will tell you how I love you’

But the girl frowned
‘I am afraid it will not go with my dress’
‘Anyway, the Chamberlain’s nephew sent me some real jewels’
‘and everybody knows jewels cost more than flowers’
‘Well, you are very ungrateful!’ said the Student angrily
and he threw the rose into the street
and the rose fell into the gutter
and a cart-wheel ran over the rose

‘Ungrateful!’ said the girl
‘Let me tell you this; you are very rude’
‘and who are you anyway? Only a Student!’
‘You don’t even have silver buckles on your shoes’
‘The Chamberlain’s nephew has far nicer shoes’
and she got up from her chair and went into the house

‘What a silly thing Love is,’ said the Student, while he walked away
‘love is not half as useful as Logic’
‘because it does not prove anything’
‘Love always tells of things that won’t happen’
‘and love makes you believe things that are not true’
‘In fact, love is quite unpractical’

‘in this age being practical is everything’
‘I shall go back to Philosophy and I will study Metaphysics’
So he returned to his room
and he pulled out a great dusty book
and he began to read

The End