"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."


...


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.

...


"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 tonight 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 I 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.

*Oscar Wilde
*Magritte