Little Nightingale...

I remembered a pretty little tale i've read somewhere... Some kind of love story..but what made me remembered that particular story vividly was the storyline:

The little nightingale sacrificed its own life...
To witness true love, the nightingale sacrificed its little soul...
It pressed its little chest to the thorn of the white rose...
Bursting into a lovely string of melody, it sang its heart out...
Blood dripped from its chest, soaking its feathers, staining the stalk of the rose...
It sang all night... as the drops of fluid miraculously flowed upward towards the petals of the white roses...
Slowly, petal by petal, they turned pink, and then into a rosy red...
As dawn peeked from the mountains beyond, the nightingale sang its last note and collapsed, with the thorn still stucked so brutally on its chest...
Yet the rose was a wonder of transformation...
It was a pure rosy rose... The colour that the poor peasant boy promised to give the one he loved-a princess...
The nightingale's feathery body no longer felt warm, it was stone cold although the day was getting warmer,the last strand of heat was in the last drop of blood that was eventually sucked up by the rose... the only stalk with rose so rosy...The little body was also pale as all the blood had been drained from it...
The peasant boy plucked the rose that contains the nightingale's passion and blood and presented it to the princess...
The princess took it, a glow of happiness lighted her entire face..she caress it so lovingly, admiring the colour that she had wanted so badly to be on her favourite flower... She turned her back on the peasant boy, forgetting about him entirely and ran back into her palace, eager to show her dad and all her waiting ladies.... The peasant boy was left on the same spot, stunned and crushed...Disappointment filled his heart... He remained on the spot till midday... Then he looked towards the pathetic looking body of the nightingale who perished to fulfill his chasing of true love... The peasant boy whispered with sorrow so great that droplets of tears dropped off nearby flowers... 'Little bird, your sacrifice was great, and i appreciate it very much, but i felt sad as your sacrifice did not reap what it had intended to...There is no true love on her behalf...'
He buried it among the beds of roses and left... Never to be spotted again...

I think this is a fable about the origin of red roses...irony of being the symbol of true love...