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And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
那树复催迫着夜莺紧插那枝刺，
"Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."
“靠紧那刺，小夜莺，”那树连声的叫唤，“不然，玫瑰还没开成，晓光就要闯来了。”
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her.
于是夜莺紧紧插入那枝刺，那刺居然插入了她的心，但是一种奇痛穿过她的全身，
Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song,
那种惨痛愈猛，愈烈，她的歌声越狂，越壮，
for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Lovethat dies not in the tomb.
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。
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky.
那卓绝的玫瑰于是变作鲜红，如同东方的天色。
Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
花的外瓣红同烈火，花的内心赤如绛玉。
But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes.
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。
Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
她的歌声模糊了，她觉得喉间哽咽了。
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky.
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。
The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air.
那玫瑰听见，凝神战栗着，在清冷的晓风里瓣瓣的开放。
Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams.
回音将歌声领入山坡上的紫洞，将牧童从梦里惊醒。
It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
歌声流到河边苇丛中，苇叶将这信息传与大海。
"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now";
那树叫道，“看，这玫瑰已制成了。”
but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
然而夜莺并不回答，她已躺在乱草里死去，那刺还插在心头。
