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The Nightingale and the Rose

'She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,' cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'

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. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life 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 dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'

'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall 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 shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. 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, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'

'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, 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 Student's 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 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 the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's 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 a way,' 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 heart's-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 become 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 compared 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 heart's-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 lip, 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 topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale 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 come 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 rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-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 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, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and 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 lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they 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.

'Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway 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,' cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as 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,' she answered; 'and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'

'Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

'Ungrateful!' said the girl. 'I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

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Average: 4.2 (14 votes)

Comments

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the nightingale represents the ideal of love which we are pursuing in our hearts. while the the reality makes people blind to their heart so they can not enjoy this wonderful gift that God has given us

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Thiss a really heart-touching tragedy full of meaning and moral.
What is the true love? Just like the nightingale, she loves the boys eyes and lips. She

thinks the love is more precious than jewels, for it cant be purchased and weighed out.

Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is

mighty. For this love, she dedicates a lot, suffers a lot. In the book of "Stray Birds"

Tagore said , "It is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom." Similarly, it is

the pains of hers that fulfill the true love. This is the love, which is always sung by many

people for thousands of years. It needs sacrifice, and it will be perfected by death as this

tale tells us.
But in reality, most of people dont believe it. The love in their eyes is just a decoration

of life, usually judged by whether its useful, helpful or not. "We are not suitable to each

other" is often used as an excuse of parting. However, the actual reason is that there is no

love between them. At present you are suitable, but maybe in future you two will become

unsuitable, for example because of the decrease of wealth or decrepit looks. Then youre

going to find another one who is so-called suitable. Conflicts of many families and

marriages arise therefore. I dont think that girl in this fairy tale will be happy in

future, because she is greedy and selfish. She doesnt deserve the happiness. Moreover the

boy wont own happiness, either. He thinks the love is useless and unpractical. His love is

superficial, and he will never get a girl with whome he can live happily with.

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It is one of our favorite story. We too are dissapointed lovers. Hence we love the story very much as it speaks of philosophy and love both of which we are the worshippers. The story is very familiar to our lives.

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The story is really amazing. The character of Nightingale is used to depict what is love and at the same time the felling of love is well established by giving the example of girl.

The way of writing the story is great and I simply admire this type of poetic touch to the prose.
It is one of my favorite.

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I have this story in my english book and it is present for my exams. I must say, it is a really beautiful anf emotional story. One of the best ones I have ever read. The nightingales sacrifice is truly amazing....and I really wish she did exist in reality.
Hats off to the Late Mr. Oscar Wilde !!!

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this is an awesone story its not to be read over and just grief over it and its emotional part rather try to bring that respect for love in our lives as told by the author and try our best to remove that selfishness and become selfless as the nightingale

its a wonderful story with a deeper meaning inside..

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A very tragic and touching story. When I first read it, it was kind of boring, but after the second time when I focused on it, the true meaning of the story really affected me. Too bad there is no such people as the nightingale..
by: izborna iz engleskog :DDDDDD

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the beauty of the language adds more charm to the sad story. It is not only the tragedy of the nightingale, it is the tragedy of the human beings. because our ignorance and arrogance, we missed the most beautiful gift of human being-love.

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Its in deed a great story, I read the story when I was living in my teens, it really touches even to the rudest sould, it really makes move the floor under anybodys feet.Love exist, although it is necessary to plant it, cultivate it and yet if we neglet it for just one day, it dies while we act as idiot human being which just want to feed materialistic desires

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Its in deed a great story, I read the story in Spanish when I was in my teens, it really touches even to the hardest soul, it really makes move the floor under anybodys feet.Love exists, although it is necessary to plant it, cultivate it and yet if we neglet it for just one day, it dies while we act as idiot human beings which just want to feed materialistic desires
Ubaldo Gandica from Venezuela.

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great heart touching. It remembers me my schooldays and my ideal dearest teacher manorath panday when i was in class 7 , twenty years past , and today i found my greatest story after a years of searching , when the memmory of this story was fainting and now i am telling this lovely story to my seven year old child, and i found that he also liked story same as i in childhood. thanks and my regards to pandey sir who told this to me with every bit emotion, and after reading this story my eyes became wet.
thanks Mr. manorath pandey today u r not in this world but your memories will never faint,
Thanks oscar wild for such a heartouching story
thanks east of the web

[email protected]

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This is probably one of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. Ive know it for a while now, but I cant stop reading it.
It defines true love, a love that lives in our heart and not in our head.

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so nice

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My mother used to read me this story when I was really young from the book of stories that I still have by Oscar Wilde.
I remember feeling heart broken for the bird and very very sad that she died ... and horrified that the young lad (stupid, bad, mean, selfish!!) could do such a thing so as to throw away the rose.
So much PATHOS!
Still feel sorry for the little bird!
And feel like slapping all the rest!
Uma Pathak, India, Mumbai.

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nice

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...when I read this story, I realize that not everything that we desire is easy to get... one of us or the person, needs to sacrifice for his/her love. in this story the reader can get a lot of learning.. and how this story touches our heart.... the bird sacrifices her life for the happiness of the young student, if we will compare this to ourself, those people who has no chance to show their love to their desired ones, they just sacrifice by letting them go or wished for their happiness..... hope we can learn a lot from this story..for those who are willing to sacrifice... sacrifice doesnt mean ur naive or stupid.. it is because we are using our HEARTS ....=))

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I love the nigtingale very much. She has devoted her life for love. Thats a beautiful true love.She is the greatest girl in the world because she has created the nicest rose which symbolizes LOVE. Nothing in the world can be beautiful as her!

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this is the most perfect definition of love ive ever read or heard about. by touching the universal theme Wilde shares with us his love of story telling. symbolically the nightingale can be Wilde himself feeding his stories with his own blood.i love his stories and his style.

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This story, as mentioned, clearly relates to how love cannot be attained through knowledge from materials in books, students outlook, but how it takes the dedication of someone to fully understand the concept and the significant meaning of love and what that represents in a larger perspective.

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Simply awesome, true to the writings of
Oscar Wilde, known to every student from
their school days. The story, its writings
and content immediately fills ones heart
pining for more, even when the story ends.
Fantastic in one word.

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This is the first story which makes me addicted to read short stories,
As a teacher i shall tell my students about this story if there any luxurious time.

Why i choosed this story, one of the reason the power of love by nightingale so amazing, sacrifice himself for something he believed in, thats why he had a great power to fulfill his dream to made a flower, on the other hand the boy depressed(give up) in the last paragraph after the boy been ignored by the women he gave up already, this aint love at all..

Thank you Oscar Wielder
(Reggy marchia)

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