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 lifeblood ebbed away(消逝) from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the rose tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal(花瓣) following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost(顶端的) spray(小树枝) of the tree.
But the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn. ‘Press closer, little nightingale,’ cried the tree, ‘or the day will come before the rose is finished.’
So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn and louder and louder grew her song, for she snag of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson(使变成深红) the heart of a rose.
And the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn. ‘Press closer, little nightingale,’ cried the tree, ‘or the day will come before the rose is finished.’
So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang(突然的剧痛) of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the love that is perfected by death, of the love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle(腰带) of petals, and crimson as a ruby(红宝石) was the heart.
But the nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy(入迷), and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds(水草) of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
‘Look, look!’cried the tree, ‘the rose is finished now;’ but the nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.