By Oscar Wilde
“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her redroses，” cried the young Student； “but in all my garden there isno red rose.”
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heardhim， and she looked out through the leaves， and wondered.
“No red rose in all my garden！” he cried， and his beautifuleyes filled with tears. “Ah， on what little things does happinessdepend！ I have read all that the wise men have written， and allthe secrets of philosophy are mine， yet for want of a red rose ismy life made wretched.”
“Here at last is a true lover，” said the Nightingale. “Nightafter night have I sung of him， though I knew him not： nightafter 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 asthe rose of his desire； but passion has made his face like paleivory， and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.”
“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night，” murmured theyoung Student， “and my love will be of the company. If I bringher a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring hera red rose， I shall hold her in my arms， and she will lean herhead 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， andshe will pass me by. She will have no heed of me， and myheart will break.”
“Here indeed is the true lover，” said the Nightingale. “WhatI sing of， he suffers—what is joy to me， to him is pain. SurelyLove is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds，and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannotbuy it， nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not bepurchased of the merchants， nor can it be weighed out in thebalance for gold.”
“The musicians will sit in their gallery，” said the youngStudent， “and play upon their stringed instruments， and mylove will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. Shewill dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor， andthe courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. Butwith 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 inhis hands， and wept.
“Why is he weeping？” asked a little Green Lizard， as he ranpast him with his tail in the air.
“Why， indeed？” said a Butterfly， who was fluttering aboutafter a sunbeam.
“Why， indeed？” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour， in asoft， low voice.
“He is weeping for a red rose，” said the Nightingale.
“For a red rose？” they cried； “how very ridiculous！”and thelittle Lizard， who was something of a cynic， laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’ssorrow， and she sat silent in the oak-tree， and thought about themystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight， and soaredinto the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow， andlike a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rosetree，and when she saw it she flew over to it， and lit upon aspray.
“Give me a red rose，” she cried， “and I will sing you mysweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are white，” it answered； “as white as the foam ofthe sea， and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go tomy brother who grows round the old sun-dial， and perhaps hewill give you what you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that wasgrowing round the old sun-dial.
“Give me a red rose，” she cried， “and I will sing you mysweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are yellow，” it answered； “as yellow as the hair ofthe mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne， and yellowerthan the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mowercomes with his scythe. But go to my brother who growsbeneath the Student’s window， and perhaps he will give youwhat you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that wasgrowing beneath the Student’s window.
“Give me a red rose，” she cried， “and I will sing you mysweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are red，” it answered， “as red as the feet of thedove， and redder than the great fans of coral that wave andwave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins，and the frost has nipped my buds， and the storm has brokenmy branches， and I shall have no roses at all this year.”
“One red rose is all I want，” cried the Nightingale，“only onered rose！ Is there no way by which I can get it？”
“There is away，” answered the Tree； “but it is so terrible thatI 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 itout of music by moonlight， and stain it with your own heart’sblood.
You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn.
All night long you must sing to me， and the thorn must pierceyour heart， and your life-blood must flow into my veins， andbecome mine.”
“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose，” cried theNightingale， “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sitin 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 thehawthorn， and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley， andthe 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 intothe air. She swept over the garden like a shadow， and like ashadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass， where shehad left him， and the tears were not yet dry in his beautifuleyes.