'She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,'
cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'
'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;'
but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead
in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything,
I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'
(I put my impressions (with oil colors) on canvas after reading this story in 1986..... long long time ago)