The amorous nightingale presented itself first; it was beside itself with the excess of its passion. It expressed a meaning in each of the thousand tones of its songs, and in these diverse meanings was contained a world of secrets. It therefore celebrated the secrets of the mystery, to such a degree that it silenced the other birds. “The secrets of love are known to me,” it said; “all night I repeat my songs of love. Is there not some unhappy being like David to whom I might sing melancholy psalms of love? It is in imitation of my song that the flute laments, and the lute seems to utter plaints. I stir the rose-beds as well as the hearts of lovers. I teach new mysteries without ceasing; at every moment I repeat new songs of sorrow. When love does violence to me, I make a sound like that of the waves of the sea. Whoever listens to me loses his reason; he is intoxicated, however much dominion he ordinarily keeps over himself. If I am deprived for a long time of the sight of my beloved rose, I grieve and cease my songs, which unveil the secrets. When, at the beginning of spring, she spreads her sweet fragrance through the world, I gladly open my heart to her, and, by her happy horoscope, my sorrows cease; but the nightingale is silent when its beloved does not appear. My secrets are not known to everyone; but the rose knows them for certain. Entirely immersed in love for the rose, I give no thought at all to my own existence; I think only of the rose’s love; for myself I desire only the … To attain the Simurgh is beyond my powers; the love of the rose is enough for the nightingale. It is for me that she blooms with her hundred leaves; how, then, could I be unhappy? The rose that blossoms today, full of desire for me, smiles joyfully at me. When she appears to me only behind a veil, I can even clearly see that she smiles at me. Could the nightingale spend a single night deprived of the love of so charming an object?”
The hoopoe replied to the nightingale: “Thou who hast remained behind, engrossed in the outward form of things! Cease to delight in a seductive attachment. Love of the rose’s fair face has driven many a thorn into thy heart; it has acted upon thee and mastered thee. Although the rose is beautiful, its beauty vanishes within eight days. Now, love for a thing so manifestly fleeting should inspire only disgust in perfect men. If the rose’s smile awakens
« thy desires, it is to draw thee, night and day, into the groaning of lamentation. Leave the rose, then, and blush; for she laughs at thee each new spring, and smiles not upon thee.”
« thy desires, it is to draw thee, night and day, into the groaning of lamentation. Leave the rose, then, and blush; for she laughs at thee each new spring, and smiles not upon thee.”