So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music.The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn,and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

于是，夜莺紧紧***那枝刺，那刺居然***了她的心，但是一种奇痛穿过她的全身，那种惨痛愈猛、愈烈，她的歌声越狂、越壮，因为她这回歌颂的是因死而完成的挚爱和冢中不朽的爱情。
那卓绝的玫瑰于是变作鲜红，如同东方的天色。花的外瓣红同烈火，花的内心赤如绛玉。
夜莺的声音越唱越模糊了，她的双翅拍动起来，她的眼上起了一层薄膜。她的歌声模糊了，她觉得喉间哽咽了。于是，她放出末次的歌声，白色的残月听见，忘记天晓，挂在空中停着。那玫瑰听见，凝神战栗着，在清冷的晓风里瓣瓣地开放。回音将歌声领人山坡上的紫洞，将牧童从梦里惊醒。歌声流到河边苇丛中，苇叶将这信息传与大海。