夜莺与玫瑰英文原文

发布网友 发布时间：2022-04-23 12:58

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懂视网 时间：2022-11-17 04:32

1、在一个寒冷的冬夜，一个年轻的学生要献上一朵红玫瑰才能与心仪的姑娘共舞。当夜莺听到年轻的学生因无法采得一朵红玫瑰而悲泣时，以为学生正是她一直在歌唱和寻找的真情人。于是，为了帮助学生达成爱情愿望，夜莺毅然决定用自己的生命之血培育一朵红玫瑰。

2、在一个寒冷而寂寥的月夜，夜莺将胸脯紧紧抵住一根红玫瑰树的尖刺，让尖刺深深插入自己的心脏，并在月色里彻夜吟唱。夜莺鲜红的心血慢慢流入红玫瑰树干枯的经脉，带血的玫魂终于在寒冬里怒放了，但夜莺却跌落在茂盛的草丛中，怀着对爱情的希望永远地闭上了双眼。

3、教授的女儿得到学生送的红玫瑰后，还是嫌他太穷，因而拒绝了他的爱情。于是，愤怒之下，学生把夜莺用生命换来的血色玫瑰扔到了大街上，玫瑰掉进了阴沟里，一只车轮从它身上碾了过去。

懂视网 时间：2022-11-29 17:10

真正的爱人多是痛苦的、沉默的。

花的外瓣红如烈火,花的内心赤如绛玉。

不论什么地方,只要你爱它,它便是你的世界。

我只求你做一件事,就是要你做一个忠诚的情人。

哲理虽智,爱却比她更慧;权力虽雄,爱却比她更伟。

每个圣人都有过去，每个罪人都有未来 。

我将用月光下的歌声制造它，用我自己的心血染红它。我对你的唯一所求，是做一个真挚的爱人。

过自己想要的生活不是自私，要求别人按自己的意愿生活才是。

每个人生来都是君王，但大多数在流亡中死去。

一个人总是可以善待他毫不在意的人。

生活中只有两个悲剧：一个是没有得到你想要的，另外一个是得到了你想要的。

热心网友 时间：2023-12-18 14:14

《夜莺与玫瑰》

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose。"

“她说如果我给她带来红玫瑰，她会和我跳舞的，”年轻的学生喊道，“但我的花园里没有红玫瑰。”

From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered。

夜莺从橡树的巢穴里听到了他的声音，她透过树叶向外望去，感到奇怪。

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend！

“我的花园里没有红玫瑰！”他哭了，他那双美丽的眼睛里充满了泪水。”啊，幸福取决于什么小事！

I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want (没有) of a red rose is my life made wretched。"

我读过智者所写的一切，哲学的一切秘密都是我的，然而，由于缺少一朵红玫瑰，我的生活就变得悲惨。”

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him。

“终于有了一个真正的情人，”夜莺说。我夜以继日地歌颂他。

though I knew him not：night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him。

虽然我不认识他；我夜以继日地向星空讲述他的故事，现在我看见了他。

His hair is dark as the hyacinth（风信子）-- blossom，and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory；

他的头发黑得像风信子一样开放，他的嘴唇红得像他渴望的玫瑰；

and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow。"

但是*使他的脸像苍白的象牙，悲伤使她的印记印在他的额头上。

《夜莺与玫瑰》中的主人公是体态孱弱的夜莺，它以极其微小的力量，为了素不相识者的幸福以无畏的精神做了智者、强者都办不到的“惊天动地”的事，发人深省。作品中王尔德别出心裁地把它的巢安放在高达25米的栋树的枝叶中，为其避风躲雨。喻义是弱小的它是需要强者呵护的。

可是，就是这位尚需他人呵护的弱小者，当它看到学子因无法得到一朵红玫瑰，将失掉爱情而悲泣时，深为其对爱情的“至诚”而感动。当得知不得不用心脏抵着锋利的玫瑰刺唱一夜动听的歌方才得到这只玫瑰时，它义无反顾地说：“死亡的代价是巨大的，然而爱情比生命更珍贵。”

心甘情愿地为“爱情”献出了宝贵的生命，用一腔热血染红雪白的玫瑰。王尔德在作品中用了约四分之一的篇幅着力描绘夜莺倾注全部心力，忍着极度的痛苦制作红玫瑰的过程，特别是此段情节发展到*时的情景更是扣人心弦。

“当它奄奄一息时急促地唱出了最后一节音符。皎洁的月亮听到它那凄楚动人的歌声，感动地徘徊在天际，忘却了黎明。它用心血培育的这朵红玫瑰听到这歌声，在寒冷的凌晨中销魂得通体震颤了起来，勿速地打开了花蕾”。

此刻，玫瑰树急切地喊叫着：“看啊，看啊！玫瑰花开了。”但是夜莺却没有回答，荆棘刺穿透胸膛的它已经躺在草丛中死去了——这就是王尔德所讴歌的那种为了别人的幸福而甘愿牺牲自己的高贵情操。他认为纯美的品格是能感动天地的——月亮的运行停滞，红玫瑰在严冬绽放。

相形之下，当夜莺迫不及待地赶回去把这一喜讯告知了学子时，受庸俗世风影响的学子却认为：“它像大多数艺术家一样，仅有其假相不合有诚意，更不可能为他人而牺牲自己。”在这里，王尔德再次嘲讽了当时的所谓上流社会的“有识之士”们。

热心网友 时间：2023-12-18 14:14

　　THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE

　　"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student, "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

　　From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.

　　"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want (没有) of a red rose is my life made wretched."

　　"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth(风信子)-- blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

　　"The Prince gives a ball (舞会) to-morrow night," murmured the young student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I should hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

　　"Here, indeed, is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds (翡翠), and dearer than fine opals (蛋白石). Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

　　"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her:" and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

　　"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.

　　"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

　　"For a red rose?" they cried: "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic (愤世嫉俗者), laughed outright.

　　But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

　　Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

　　In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

　　"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

　　But the Tree shook its head.

　　"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial (一种玫瑰), and perhaps he will give you what you want."

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

　　"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

　　But the Tree shook its head.

　　"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden (美人鱼) who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil (黄水仙) that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window (一种玫瑰), and perhaps he will give you what you want."

　　So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window.

　　"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

　　But the Tree shook its head.

　　"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped (摧残) my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."

　　"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

　　"There is a way," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

　　"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

　　"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’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 life-blood must flow into me veins, and become mine."

　　"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot (战车) of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared 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, where she had left him, 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 heart’s blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy (哲学), though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as homey, and his breath is like frankincense."

　　The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

　　But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches.

　　"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel lonely when you are gone."

　　So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

　　When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

　　"She had form," her 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. 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 topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous 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. 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 (猩红), like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby (红宝石) was the heart.

　　But the Nightingale’ 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, 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 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 not 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 a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;" and he leaned down and plucked it.

　　Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand.

　　The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

　　"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 to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."

　　But he girl frowned.

　　"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew had sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

　　"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose onto he street, where it fell into the gutter (阴沟), and a cartwheel went over it.

　　"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I dont believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has;" and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

　　"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 (玄学)."

　　So he returned to his room and pulled out a great sty book, and began to read.

参考资料：http://www.chne.net/yxsj/yxsjd.asp?newsid=12256

热心网友 时间：2023-12-18 14:15

The Nightingale and the Rose

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"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.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

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

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart'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 life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared 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, where she had left him, 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 heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

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 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. 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. 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 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.

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, 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 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.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"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 to-night 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 Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far 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, and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What I 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."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great sty book, and began to read.

.end.

参考资料：http://bj.netsh.com/bbs/88544/5/2098.html