Chris de Burgh - The nightingale

^AmLove burns in a ^Emyoung man's heart ^FHe would give her the ^Emmoon and the stars And ^Dmall the Treasures of the ^AmPharaohs for A ^Gmoment in her a^Frms ^AmTo the Ball with ^Em7him she will ^Emgo ^FIf he brings her a ^Cred, red rose ^DmBut there is only a ^Amrose of white ^GIn his garden g^Freen And calling up ^Gto the sky ^F The birds heard his ^Glonely cry

&^Cquot;Sing for her, sweet Nightingale ^FTell her of my ^Glove ^CBring for her, sweet Nightingale A ^Fred, red ^Grose of ^Clove

^AmSaid the tree to the ^EmNightingale ^F"Upon this thorn^C you must impale ^Dmyour heart, and then the ^Amblood Will ^Gturn this white rose ^Fred" ^AmAll night, the ^Emlittle bird sang ^FBut in the morning ^Cshe was gone ^DmAnd beside her ^Amon the ground ^GLay a red, red ^Frose When the boy ^Gfound it there ^FJoy came from ^Ghis despair

"^C;You sang for her, sweet Nightingale You ^Ftold her of my ^Glove You ^Cbring for her, sweet Nightingale This ^Fred, red ^Grose of ^Clove"

^ESo he brought her the beautiful ^Brose &^Equot;To the Ball with me yo^Bu'll go" "^C;But no,&^Dquot; she said "I ^Ghave je^Dwe^Cls instead A^Amnother has won my ^Dheart And from ^Amyou, now I must ^Dpart So, ^Amtake your foolish ^Drose and ^Ego!"

^CSing for her, sweet Nightingale ^FSing from heaven a^Gbove ^CBring for her, sweet Nightingale The ^Fwisdom ^Gthat is ^Clove The ^Fwisdom ^Gthat is ^Clove