A young student cried with his face so
pale,
For he hungered for a red rose so
sweet.
Beside him was a singing
nightingale,
Whose nest was on an oak
tree.
The student loved a maiden,
Who was a professor’s beautiful
daughter.
If only a red rose had grown in his
garden,
The student could claim her hand
forever.
So the nightingale spread her wings for
flight,
To seek a rose tree in the
meadow,
But his roses were all white,
And whiter than the mountain’s
snow.
Again she soared like an
arrow,
To beg another tree growing so
fair;
But his roses were all
yellow,
And yellower than the mermaid’s
hair.
The kind tree told her
however,
His brother was beneath the student’s
window.
So the bird became happier,
And passed through the garden like a
shadow.
She entreated for a red rose
heartily,
But the tree shook his head.
He said the price would not be paid
easily,
In gaining it the bird must be
dead.
She should push her bosom against a
thorn,
Let her blood flow into the tree’s
vein,
And sing her sweetest songs until
dawn,
Then a red rose would compensate her
pain.
The bird did as being told,
Pierced the thorn into her
heart,
And kept singing with the voice of
gold,
Waiting the rose to start.
The sun rays broke the gloom,
The nightingale,her life was ebbing
away.
But the rose bloomed,
And standing in the breeze it
swayed.
The student woke,surprisingly seeing the
flower.
He gently plucked it,
And ran with all his power,
To the girl he eagerly wanted to
meet.
But the girl had already wore a
diamond,
Which came from a rich man.
Coldly,she threw the rose on the
ground.
And said she wouldn’t meet the student again.
The student left,without picking up the
rose.
Returning home,he buried his head into the
books,
Never rose.
Outside his window,sunlight
shone;
Peacefully and unnoticed,a nightingale did
lie.
Only the wind,who listened to her first
song,
Was receiving her last sigh