a few minutes ago My friend sent me this message on the phone:
"robi you ever read the Nightingale and the Rose Wilde? Please read it is a story you find on the internet is wonderful .."
(when one discovers a book, a story or essay turns to me ... who knows come mai :D)
Non me lo sono fatto ripetere due volte ed eccomi qua davanti al pc.
Per la serie: mollo tutto e tutti e leggo! (che male non fa)
Navigando un pò per i mari della reta l'ho trovato!
L'ho letto e la prima cosa che mi è venuta in mente alla fine è stata
"come si fa a sprecare un miracolo del genere?"
Si perchè è letteralmente un miracolo quando qualcuno offre la vita per renderti felice!
Ci complichiamo l'esistenza a inseguire l'aspetto materiale delle cose e siamo ciechi davanti a un VERO atto d'amore, mettendo in dubbio il fatto che anche un semplice e piccolo usignolo possa avere dei sentimenti!
Non sono cinica fino a questo punto.
What a waste!
I want to share with you the story, maybe you read it you will steal some time, but it will be worth it, believe me!
"- She said she will dance with me if I'll bring red roses - complained about the young student - but in all my garden there is a single red rose.
From his nest in the oak listened ' Nightingale, and looked through the leaves, and wondered:
- I do not have a red rose in all my garden! - lamented the student, and her beautiful eyes were full of tears.
- Ah, what nonsense from happiness depends ! I have read all the writings of the wise; I know all the secrets of philosophy, however, the lack of a red rose upsets my life!
- Here at last was truly in love - said the Nightingale. - Night after night have I sung of him, although I knew him not: night after night I fabled his story to the stars, and now I see. His hair is dark as the hyacinth curls, and her lips are red as the rose of his desire, the pain made his face like pale ivory, and the pain has placed his seal on the forehead.
- The Prince by a dance tomorrow night - hissed the young student - and my love will go there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring I will keep a red rose in my arms and she bend her head on my shoulder and my hand clasp his. But there is a red rose in all my garden, and so I sit alone, and she will pass in front of me without stopping. Will have no care of me. And my heart will be broken.
- is certainly a true love - said the Nightingale. - What I sing, he suffers, what for me is joy for him is worth it. Love really is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and beautiful skies. Pearls and garnets can not buy it, and is not for sale on the marketplace. They can not buy merchants, né pesarlo le bilance dell’oro.
- I musicanti siederanno nella galleria – proferiva il giovane Studente – e suoneranno i loro strumenti, e la mia amata ballerà al suono dell’arpa e del violino. Ballerà così leggera che i suoi piedi non toccheranno intorno. Ma con me non danzerà, perché io non ho una rosa rossa da offrirle e si gettò sull’erba, si chiuse il volto tra le mani, e versò lacrime.
- Perché piange? – chiese la Farfalla, che piroettava qua e là inseguendo un raggio di sole.
- Già, perché? – sussurrò una Pratolina al suo vicino, con voce sommessa e tenera.
- Piange per una rosa rossa – disse l’Usignolo.
- For a red rose! - Exclaimed ones. - How ridiculous! - And the green lizard, which was a bit 'contempt, laughed heartily.
But the Nightingale understood the secret pain of the student, and remained silent on the oak, to think about the mystery of Love. Suddenly stretched its dark wings and flew, hovered in the air. Passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow fluttered on the garden. At the center of the flower a beautiful grassy Rising Rose ', and as soon as he saw the Nightingale flew over him and landed on a branch.
- Give me a red rose - begged - and I will sing my song sweeter.
But the Tree shook his head.
- My roses are white - said - how he wants the white foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow on the mountain. But go to my brother who grows near the ancient sundial, and perhaps will give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rosary that sprouted next to the old sundial.
- Give me a red rose - begged - and I will sing you my sweetest song. But Rosario
shook his head.
- My roses are yellow - he claimed - as yellow as the hair of the mermaid that sits on a throne of amber, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the reaper arrives with his scythe. But go to my brother that grows under the window of the Student, and perhaps will give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rose 'that was growing under the window of the Student.
- Give me a red rose - begged - and I will sing you my sweetest song. But Rosario
shook his head.
- My roses are red - he answered - as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral swaying in the caves of the ocean. But winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has torn my buds, and Hurricane has broken my branches, and shall have no roses this year.
- A single red rose is all che ti chiedo! – urlò l’Usignolo. – Non c’è proprio nessun sistema per averla?
- Un modo c’è – rispose il Rosario – ma è terribile che non ho il coraggio dirtelo.
- Dimmelo – implorò l’Usignolo – io non ho paura.
- Se vuoi una rosa rossa – disse il Rosaio – sei costretto formarla con la musica al lume della luna, e colorarla col sangue del tuo cuore. Devi cantare per me col petto contro una spina. Tutta la notte devi cantare per me, e la spina deve trafiggere il tuo cuore, e il tuo sangue vivo deve scendere nelle mie vene e diventare mio.
- La morte è un prezzo alto da pagare per una rosa rossa – si dolse l’Usignolo - And life is so dear to all. It is sweet tarry in the forest green, and enjoy the sun in the golden chariot, and the moon in her silver chariot. Sweet is the scent of clematis, and sweet blue bluebells that hide in the valley, flowering heather on the hill. But love is more precious than life, and what ever the heart of a bird, equivalent to a man's heart?
So bent his brown wings in flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow flew over to the grove. The Student was still lying in the grass, where she had left him, and wiped away the tears had not yet from his eyes.
- Be happy - shouted the Nightingale. - Be happy! You'll have your red rose! I will form with the music in the moonlight, and will color the blood of my heart. All that I ask in return is to be truly in love because love is the most judicious of Philosophy, for when it is wise, and the most authoritative of Power, for when it is powerful. Are the flame-colored wings, the color of flame is his body. Her lips are sweet as honey, and is similar to incense his breath.
The Student looked up from the grass and began to listen, but he could not understand what the Nightingale told him, after he understood only the words that are written in books. But the oak head, and she was unhappy because she loved the little Nightingale who had built a nest in its branches.
- Sing me one last song - whispered. - I feel very lonely when you're gone.
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak, and his voice was like the bubbling water that is poured from a jar of silver. After that was the song the Student got up, and took from his pocket a notebook and a pencil.
- This creature has style. He said to himself - is a fact that can not be criticized, but will also have feelings? I fear not. In truth, is like most artists, all form, no loyalty. Not offer a sacrifice for others. Think only the music, and everyone knows that art is selfish. Should in any way admit that he notes in his charming voice. Shame it does not mean anything, and we alcun'utilità practice. It went into the bedroom and lay down on her little bed, and began again to think of his beloved, and after a while 'time, he fell asleep. And when the Moon stood out in the heavens the Nightingale flew from Rosario, and put her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down to hear it. All night long she sang, and the plug was pushed ever deeper into his chest, and his life blood flowed from him. Before he sang of love that grows in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the highest branch of the Rose 'bloomed a beautiful pink, petal after petal as a note after note. Was pale at first, as the fog hanging over the river, as pale as the footsteps in the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a glass rose that blossomed on the topmost of Rosario. But the rose was shouting to the Nightingale to press closer to the plug.
- Press closer, little Nightingale - shouted the rosary - or the day will dawn before the rose is finished. So
the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn strong and stronger grew her song, singing the beings come into the world of passion in the soul of a man and a woman. A pale pink streak spread in the petals of the flower, similar to the redness that spreads on the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not reached the heart of the bird, the rose and the heart remained white, for only the blood of the heart of a Nightingale can invermigliato the heart of a rose. And the screaming Rosario Nightingale to press closer to the plug.
- Press closer, little Nightingale, or the day will dawn before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against strong on the spine, and the thorn touched her heart, and a violent spasm of pain hit him. More and more distressing was the pain, and more and more savage it was singing, because now he sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, and Love that dies not in the grave. And the beautiful rose became crimson, like the rose of the sky of the East. Vermilion band around the corolla of petals, and crimson as a ruby \u200b\u200bwas his heart. But Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a veil down her eyes. More and more it made her weak hand, and something in his throat choked him as a crying fit. Then in a final burst of momentum music. The white Moon heard it, and forgot the dawn, and hesitated in the sky. The red rose heard it, and trembles all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. The echo and repeated in her purple cavern in the hills, and woke up sleeping shepherds from their dreams. Wavered between the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
- Look! Look! - Shouted the rosary - the rose is perfect now!
But the Nightingale made no answer, because he was lying dead in the tall grass, with the thorn in my heart. At noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
- What amazing luck! - Said with emphasis. – Una rosa rossa! Non ho mai visto una rosa come questa in tutta la mia vita. È così bella che senza dubbio avrà un lungo nome latino – si sporse, e la colse.
Poi si mise il cappello, e corse a casa del Professore con la rosa in mano. La figlia del Professore sedeva in veranda, aggomitolando della seta azzurra su un arcolaio, e il suo cagnolino le stava disteso ai piedi.
- Avevate promesso di ballare con me se vi avessi portato una rosa rossa – urlò lo Studente – ecco la rosa più rossa di tutto il mondo. La porterete stasera sul cuore e mentre danzeremo insieme vi dichiarerà quando vi amo.
Ma la ragazza corrugò la fronte.
- Temo che non sia adattata al mio vestito – rispose - And then, Chamberlain's nephew has sent me a gift of real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels worth more than flowers.
- In faith, you are really ungrateful! - Said the student in a rage, and threw the rose down the road, and it fell to a trickle, and the wheel of a wagon ran over there.
- I Ungrateful? - Repeated the girl. - Well, you know what you are? A great screanzato, after all, neither more nor less than a student. And I do not believe that you have the silver buckles on his shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew.
It rose from his chair and went inside.
- What folly is Love! – disse lo Studente andandosene. – Non è utile neppure la metà della Logica, perché non esprime nulla, promette sempre cose che non si concretizzano e fa credere in cose che non sono vere. In effetti, non è per niente pratico, e siccome nel tempo in cui viviamo la praticità è tutto, tornerò alla Filosofia e studierò la Metafisica.
Così si chiuse dentro nella sua stanza, prese lo dallo scaffale un vecchio libro polveroso, e si mise a leggere."
(Oscar Wilde)
Bacio e abbraccio
FONTE:
http://www.pinu.it/usignolo_rosa.htm
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