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When
she
had
finished
her
song
,
the
Student
got
up
,
and
pulled
a
note-book
and
a
lead-pencil
out
of
his
pocket
.
"
She
has
form
,
"
he
said
to
himself
,
as
he
walked
away
through
the
grove
--
"
that
can
not
be
denied
to
her
;
but
has
she
got
feeling
?
I
am
afraid
not
.
In
fact
,
she
is
like
most
artists
;
she
is
all
style
without
any
sincerity
.
She
would
not
sacrifice
herself
for
others
.
She
thinks
merely
of
music
,
and
everybody
knows
that
the
arts
are
selfish
.
Still
,
it
must
be
admitted
that
she
has
some
beautiful
notes
in
her
voice
.
What
a
pity
it
is
that
they
do
not
mean
anything
,
or
do
any
practical
good
!
"
And
he
went
into
his
room
,
and
lay
down
on
his
little
pallet-bed
,
and
began
to
think
of
his
love
;
and
,
after
a
time
,
he
fell
asleep
.
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
life-blood
ebbed
away
from
her
.
She
sang
first
of
the
birth
of
love
in
the
heart
of
a
boy
and
a
girl
.
And
on
the
top-most
spray
of
the
Rose-tree
there
blossomed
a
marvellous
rose
,
petal
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
spray
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
sang
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
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
of
pain
shot
through
her
.
