"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of
music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You
must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long
you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your
life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."
From Oscar Wilde's "The Nightingale and the Rose"
