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摘要：The Rose and the Nightingale The rose bloomed proud in the silver light, Her petals soft, her thorns like knives. The nightingale

The Rose and the Nightingale The rose bloomed proud in the silver light, Her petals soft, her thorns like knives. The nightingale sang through the night, A song of love that cost his life. He called her name in trembling air, His voice a flame, his heart laid bare. "O cruel flower, so cold, so fair, Why wrap your heart in thorns so sharp?" She laughed and swayed in the whispering breeze, "Foolish bird, love is but pain. Fly far from me if you wish to live— My beauty burns, my thorns will stain." But still he sang, and still he bled, His breast against her thorn pressed tight. At dawn, they found the nightingale dead, And the rose—once red—now pale as white. For love that burns too bright, too bold, Leaves one heart broken, one heart cold.