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 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 XXXXX to press closer against the thorn .
Nightingale Oak-tree Rose-tree Student first life-blood morning night note-book petal