Here, indeed is the true lover

What i sing of,He surffers: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 pomergranates 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

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 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
He flung himself down on the grass and buried his face in his hands,and wept

Why is he weeping

Why,indeed?

Why,indeed?
He is weeping for a red rose


For a red rose?

How very ridiculous
But the Nightingale understand 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 rose are white

As the 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 the rose-tree that was growing round the old-dial.
Give me a red rose

And i will sing you my sweetest song

But the tree shook its head