【正文】 music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart39。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 lifeblood must flow into my veins, and bee mine. Death is a great price to pay for a red rose, cried the Nightingale, and life is very dear to all. Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird pared to the heart of a man So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. The young Student was still lying on the grass, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. Be happy, cried the Nightingale, be happy, you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart39。s blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover. The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him. But the Oaktree understood and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale. Sing me one last song, he whispered. I shall feel lonely when you are gone. So the Nightingale sang to the Oaktree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song, the Student got up. She has form, he said to himself, as he walked away. That cannot be denied. But has she got feeling I am afraid not. In fact, like most artists, she is all style without any sincerity. And he went to his room, and lay down on his bed, and after a time, he fell asleep. And when the Moon shone in the heaven, the Nightingale flew to the Rosetree, 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 into her breast, and her lifeblood ebbed away 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 Rosetree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. Press closer, little Nightingale, cried the Tree, or the Day will e 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 rose39。s heart remained white. And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. Press closer, little Nightingale, cried the Tree, or the Day will e 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. 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. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as ruby was the heart. But the Nightingale39。s voice grew fainter 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 trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals in the cold morning air. 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. And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried, here is the reddest rose I have ever seen. And he leaned down and plucked it. Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor39。s daughter with the rose in his hand. You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose, cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you. But the girl frowned. I am afraid it will not go with my dress, she answered, and besides, the Chamberlain39。s nephew has sent me some jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost more than flowers. Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful, said the Student angrily。 and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter. What a silly thing Love is! said the Student as he walked away. In fact it is quite unpractical, and as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy. So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read. Unti5Say Yes They were doing the dishes, his wife washing while he dried. Unlike most men he knew, he really pitched in on the housework. A few months earlier he39。d overheard a friend of his wife39。s congratulate her on having such a considerate husband. They talked about different things and somehow got on the subject of whether white people should marry black people. He said that all things considered, he thought it was a bad idea. Why she asked. Sometimes his wife got this look where she pinched her brows together and bit her lower lip. When he saw her like this he knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he never did. Actually it made him talk more. She had that look now. Why she asked again, and stood there with her hand inside a bowl, just holding it above the water. Listen, he said, I went to school with blacks, and I39。ve worked with blacks and we39。ve always gotten along just fine. I don39。t need you ing along now and implying that I39。m a racist. I didn39。t