Thou shalt touch and make redder his roses

With juice not of fruit nor of bud;

When the sense in the spirit reposes,

Thou shalt quicken the soul through the blood.

Thine, thine the one grace we implore is,

Who would live and not languish or feign,

O sleepless and deadly Dolores,

Our Lady of Pain.

 

Cacao, red patchouli, night-blooming jasmine, Roman chamomile, and white tea.