The Best English Fairy Tales / Лучшие английские сказки

But no, she will not dance, because I have no red rose to give her”; and he closed his eyes with his hands and cried and cried.

“Why is he crying?” asked a little Green Lizard.

“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly.

“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy.

“He is crying for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.

“For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous!”

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sadness. She sat in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her wings, and flew to the garden.

There was a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it.

“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 snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows near the river, and maybe he will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree.

“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 flowers on the field. But go to my brother who grows near the Student’s window, and maybe he will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing near 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 coral. But the storm has broken my branches, and I will 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 can’t 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 create it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart. Your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”

“I will die to pay a price for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale, “I love Life. I love sitting in the green wood, and to watch the Sun and the Moon.