The Happy Prince and Other Tales | Page 6

me by. She will have no heed of me,
and my heart will break."
"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of,
he suffers--what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a
wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine
opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the
marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be
weighed out in the balance for gold."
"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. She will dance so lightly that her feet
will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will
throng round her. 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.
"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him
with his tail in the air.
"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a
sunbeam.
"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low
voice.
"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.
"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard,
who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But 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.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she
sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and
when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
"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 foam of the sea, and
whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who
grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you
want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round
the old sun-dial.
"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 hair of the
mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the
daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his
scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window,
and perhaps he will give you what you want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath
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 feet of the dove, and
redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the
ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has
nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall
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 away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I 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 it out of music
by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing
to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to

me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow
into my veins, and become mine."
"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale,
"and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in 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 the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells
that hide in the valley, and the 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