What is the flower language and meaning of gardenia
The gardenia is one of the more famous among the many white flowers. Its fragrance and the scent of youth it gives off are things we all love. So, are you clear about the flower language of the gardenia and the legend behind it? Let's take a look together below~
The flower language of gardenia
Some people explain that the flower language of the gardenia is - "eternal promise and love". It is a very beautiful sentiment, because it begins to form buds from winter and does not bloom until the summer solstice, so its budding period is relatively long. Although it seems to bloom casually, it is actually the result of long effort and persistence. The editor thinks that perhaps it is because the gardenia's living habits fit this flower language even better. This is not only an entrustment of love but also, beneath its plain, lasting, warm and refined appearance, the essence of a beautiful, tenacious and mellow life.
About the legend of the gardenia:
I wiped away the thick dust on the desktop and finally found the ancient code. On its dark red cover, a blooming gardenia was still delicate and lovely. That was drawn by Colaire herself.
Suddenly I remembered that the gardenia was Colaire's favorite. At that time, the area outside the city was filled with gardenias, and when summer came they all bloomed together, filling the air with a moving fragrance. Colaire would sit among the flowers, raising her delicate brows and smiling gently. Her plain, elegant and lively face shone against a field of pure white gardenias, dignified and graceful. At that time, the armor I wore was a bright silver like clear radiance, and the spear in my hand flashed with a firm luster in the deep blue night. At that time, Crestham was the capital of this country; at that time, I was a cavalryman guarding the capital, protecting our goddess Colaire.
Colaire was a ruler high above others, yet she had pupils as clear as spring water and a delicate, shy smile. I passed through the garden where the gardenias were in full bloom and saw her. I took off my helmet and saluted. "Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness." "You have worked hard." Colaire smiled lightly, gentle and tranquil, "Look, how beautiful the gardenias are blooming this year." She wore a plain and spotless white robe, holy as an endless sea of gardenias.
The code records that the successive kings of this country were all incarnations of the Sun God. After they succeeded to the throne, they had to begin ceaseless prayer. When they finally grew old, the shrine maidens would choose a new successor to continue the prayers. Legend says that those who became monarchs had no emotions. They were born in dazzling golden sunlight, and as envoys of the god, their hearts were as still as water.
But Colaire went against fate. The old shrine maiden living at the top of the tower said that Colaire was born on a rainy day. Gray clouds covered the sky, not a single ray of sunlight could shine through, and what filled the air was only wave after wave of rich, pressing gardenia fragrance. Colaire was born with supreme spiritual power and a peerless appearance. Later she became our queen, the only Sun Goddess born on a rainy day.
On a late autumn night, I was inspecting the palace courtyard. Suddenly a slender voice drifted over from the heavy night: "In this season, the gardenias cannot be seen." Looking toward the sound, Colaire was sitting alone on the city tower, her gaze deep and sorrowful.
"That won't happen, Your Highness. When next summer comes, they will still bloom brightly and beautifully."
"Thank you." She looked at me, and a smile gradually appeared on her pale face, cold and clear as early winter moonlight. "But I know they will not bloom again."
"Why?"
She did not answer, closed her eyes and sighed deeply. In many nights afterward, I could always see the gloomy and melancholy Colaire in the moonlight with sparse stars. She smiled and told me to sit beside her, then said, "When there is no one else around, call me by my name directly."
"Colaire..." I knelt on one knee and kissed the back of her hand. Colaire smiled, and crystal-clear teardrops slid down from her eyes, falling onto my palm, ice-cold.
"The gardenias bloomed beautifully this year, using up all their beauty, so they will never bloom again. Never again..."
That is all for now on the flower language of the gardenia. I hope the above content can help you better understand this topic. Please look forward to more wonderful content~