Monday, 21 April 2014

The Rose

Essay Writing 

 The rose

  Just as man is the crown of creation, the rose is the crown of all the flowers. It adds a lot the beauty of nature. Every flower is the best specimen of divine artistry, but the rose is supposed to be the Queen of all the flowers. The realm of flowers is, no doubt, very vast one, and every flower has its own significance, its own beauty, softness, delicacy, fragrance and symmetry, but the rose holds the same remarkable place among the flowers as the Moon holds among the resplendent stars in heaven. From budding to blooming process, the natural phenomena has to play a strange role. The whole nature appears to be at work for the whole night. As weary night drifts on, the dew-drops go on falling on the closed petals of the rose; and when the sun peeps through the window of the Eastern horizon; and its crimson rays fall on the buds and with the touch of a gust of wind; the rose unfurls its petals and spreads its fragrance in all directions. Sometimes it bends downwards as if it is unable to bear the burden of beauty. The falling dew-drops take the form of nature's tears signifying that ''The fairest thing has the fleetest end.'' nature herself sheds tears on the transitory and ephemeral life of this object of beauty as it is to wither and decay after few days leaving behind its sweet smell in the air. In one of his poems, Shelley says that long after the music has ceased, there is the thrill of that music in the brain of a person. This is a fact which is based on experience. Music can be preserved in memory and pleasure obtained from it by revival of the association. Similarly, long after the violets and roses have faded, their smell is preserved by the senses. Music thrills in the mind and the sweet smell of the violets and the roses which have fadded can be revived. Physical beauty has its own charm, but the beauty of flowers has its own singular fascination. Beauty of nature appeals to our senses as well as to our soul. The spiritual and moral influences inspired by beauty are imperishable.
It is not only man who is the lover of flowers, even the birds like nightingale are the fondest lovers of rose. When the rose blooms; its restlessness and impatience is worthy to be observed. It has aesthetic taste and aesthetic sense. It hovers round the flowers of rose just as the moth hovers rind the kindling candle. There is a sweet pathos in her sweet melodies. When time tolls the death-knell of a blooming flower; this poor creature migrates to mysterious and unknown region and thus it has received the name of a migratory bird, flying and soaring from one place to another in quest of blooming roses. Thus the world of nightingale is undoubtedly better than the world of human beings that is rife with sick-hurry, feverish activities, divided aims, hollow sighs and infection of mental strife. Attractive as the world looks to be, it can give us no real and lasting pleasure. All its joys are transitory and fleeting, only misery and grief are abiding here. There is no lasting peace of mind, no certainty of achievement or of retaining what one possesses. The world is full of pain and misery and disappointment and for these there is no cure. We have no clear-cut aims before us, no settled goal. We are merely at the mercy of circumstances which carry us to and fro in our ignorance. We are like an army fighting on a dark battlefield; filled with terror by false alarms and running in various directions without knowing where an asylum is.
To conclude, the rose has perfect harmony with human life and death. From the reception of the honourable guests to the departure of our dear ones to vastly halls of death; from the festive ceremonies to mournful rituals, from the graves to the altars of devotion, the rose is so blended in every sphere of human life that it cannot be separated from it. It is used as decorative symbols on happy occasions; its petals are scattered under the feet out of reverence; it is presented in the forms of nosegay to the heads of states; it is presented as gifts to our dear ones; its petals are scattered over the graves.
Man decomposes within the grave,
The rose withers on the grave.

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