Suddenly, she spread her brown wings and soared into the air. "How ridiculous!" But the Nightingale understood the secret of the student's sorrow, and she sat silently in the oak tree, and thought about the mystery of love. "He's weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale. "Why is he weeping?" asked a butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. But she won't dance with me, because I have no red rose to give her." And he flung himself down on the grass, buried his face in his hands, and wept. "And my love will dance to the sound of the violin. It's more precious than emeralds and diamonds and gold." "The musicians will play their instruments," said the student. She'll pay no attention to me, and my heart will break." "Here indeed is a true romantic," said the Nightingale. But there's no red rose in the garden, and so instead, I'll sit by myself while she passes me by. If I bring her a red rose, I'll get to hold her in my arms, and she'll lean her head on my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. If I bring her a red rose, she'll dance with me till dawn. Night after night I have told his story to the stars, and now I see him." "The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young student, "and my love will be there. "Night after night I have sung of him, though I didn't realize it. I've read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy, but my life is wretched because of a red rose." "Here at last is a true romantic," said the Nightingale. "It's amazing how happiness depends on such little things. "Not a single red rose anywhere!" he cried, and his eyes filled with tears. "But there's not one in this whole garden." From her nest in the oak tree, the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered. "She promised she'd dance with me if I brought her a red rose," cried a young heart-broken student.
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