She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. “For a red rose?” they cried “how very ridiculous!” and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.īut 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. “He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale. “Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice. “Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. “Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air. 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. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. “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. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.” Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. “What I sing of, he suffers-what is joy to me, to him is pain.

“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.” But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. 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. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. “The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young Student, “and my love will be of the company. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are 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.” “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.

“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “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.” “No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “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.”įrom her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

The nightingale oscar wilde