with my own heart's-blood. All that

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.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 2:

dengan heart's-darah saya sendiri. Semua yang saya minta dari Anda kembali adalah bahwa
Anda akan menjadi kekasih sejati, Cinta adalah bijaksana daripada Filsafat, meskipun
dia bijaksana, dan lebih kuat dari Power, meskipun ia perkasa. Flame-
berwarna sayapnya, dan berwarna seperti api adalah tubuhnya. Nya
bibir manis seperti madu, dan nafasnya seperti kemenyan. "
Mahasiswa itu mendongak dari rumput, dan mendengarkan, tapi dia bisa
tidak mengerti apa yang Nightingale mengatakan kepadanya, karena ia hanya
tahu hal-hal yang ditulis dalam . buku
Tapi Oak-pohon dipahami, dan merasa sedih, karena ia sangat menyukai
Nightingale kecil yang telah membangun sarang di cabang nya.
"Nyanyikan aku satu lagu terakhir," bisiknya, "Saya akan merasa sangat kesepian
ketika Anda hilang. "
Jadi Nightingale bernyanyi ke Oak-pohon, dan suaranya seperti
air mendidih dari botol perak.
Ketika dia selesai lagunya Mahasiswa bangun, dan menarik
buku catatan dan memimpin pensil dari . sakunya
"Dia memiliki bentuk," katanya pada dirinya sendiri, karena ia berjalan pergi melalui
grove - "yang tidak dapat dipungkiri padanya; namun ia mendapat perasaan? Saya
takut tidak. Bahkan, dia seperti kebanyakan seniman; dia adalah semua
gaya, tanpa ketulusan apapun. Dia tidak akan mengorbankan dirinya untuk
orang lain. Dia pikir hanya musik, dan semua orang tahu bahwa
seni yang egois. Namun, harus diakui bahwa dia memiliki beberapa
catatan indah dalam suaranya. Sayang itu adalah bahwa mereka tidak
berarti apa-apa, atau melakukan apapun yang baik praktis "Dan dia pergi ke nya.
kamar, dan berbaring di sedikit pallet-tempat tidurnya, dan mulai memikirkan
cintanya, dan, setelah beberapa waktu, dia tertidur.
Dan ketika Bulan bersinar di langit yang Nightingale terbang ke
Rose-pohon, dan mengatur dadanya pada duri tersebut. Sepanjang malam
dia bernyanyi dengan dadanya pada duri, dan kristal dingin
bulan membungkuk dan mendengarkan . Sepanjang malam dia bernyanyi, dan
duri pergi lebih dalam dan lebih dalam ke payudaranya, dan dia hidup-darah
surut darinya.
Dia pertama kelahiran cinta bernyanyi di jantung laki-laki dan
perempuan. Dan di atas semprot-sebagian besar dari Rose-pohon di sana berkembang sebuah
mawar yang luar biasa, kelopak berikut kelopak, seperti lagu diikuti lagu.
Pale dia, pada awalnya, sebagai kabut yang menggantung di atas sungai - pucat
seperti kaki pagi hari, dan perak sebagai sayap fajar.
Sebagai bayangan mawar di cermin perak, sebagai bayangan
mawar dalam air kolam, sehingga adalah mawar yang berkembang di paling atas
semprot Pohon.
Tapi Pohon menangis Sang Burung Bulbul untuk menekan lebih dekat terhadap
duri. "Tekan lebih dekat, sedikit Nightingale," teriak Tree, "atau
Hari akan datang sebelum mawar selesai. "
Jadi Nightingale ditekan lebih dekat terhadap duri, dan lebih keras dan
lebih keras tumbuh lagunya, karena ia menyanyikan kelahiran gairah dalam
jiwa seorang pria dan seorang pembantu.