I believe, the story of the night-blooming tree of sorrow (Arbor Tristis) goes something like this... Once upon a time, not so long ago, in a place north of next door lived a young and delightfully beautiful daughter of a high and mighty nobleman, who fell in love with the Sun. Alas, the hot tempered Sun rejected her love. Scorned she withdrew from all human companionship, into the wilderness she fled. In her dark grief she slew herself. When her body was found by her people, it was brought back to the village and put on a funeral pyre according to the custom of the day. From her ashes sprang the Tree of Sorrow whose beautiful blossoms never opened in daytime in the presence of the spiteful Sun. Its magical flowers unfolded their petals only at night under the gentle light of moon and the cool stars, filling the night air with the most fragrant, sweet-silvery perfume. And when the sun rose in the morning the blossoms of this tree closed, its leaves withered and the tree looked dead and barren, only to rejuvenate and unfold again under the rays of the kindhearted moon. It also has been said, and I believe it to be true that whenever a cold-hearted human hand touched the blooming tree the blossoms of this sensitive plant closed up and their sweet scent vanished!
And so it has been said, and I do believe that this is true, that the tender timber lived happily nocturnally ever-after!