What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away. “It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics

and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by.

yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched

Nightingale

young Student;

I tell you what, you are very rude;

Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

“Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

for only a Nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove—“that cannot 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.

Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”

Death is a great price to pay for a red rose

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale. “For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous!”

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.

but in all my garden there is no red rose

She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses