Juneteenth

  • A vintage-looking photograph of an old-fashioned pen and inkwell with text reading "A Hymn to the Evening"

    A Hymn to the Evening Perfume Oil

    Phillis Wheatley

    Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
    The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
    Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,
    Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
    Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
    And through the air their mingled music floats.
    Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread!
    But the west glories in the deepest red:
    So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,
    The living temples of our God below!
    Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
    And draws the sable curtains of the night,
    Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
    At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
    So shall the labours of the day begin
    More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
    Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
    Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

    A gentle scent for peace, safety, and rest: twilit lavender bud and sweet labdanum, hops, red benzoin, patchouli, Mysore sandalwood, and vanilla bean.

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  • A vintage-looking photograph of an old-fashioned pen and inkwell with text reading "Early Affection"

    Early Affection Perfume Oil

    George Moses Horton
    I lov’d thee from the earliest dawn,
           When first I saw thy beauty’s ray,
    And will, until life’s eve comes on,
           And beauty’s blossom fades away;
    And when all things go well with thee,
    With smiles and tears remember me.
     
    I’ll love thee when thy morn is past,
           And wheedling gallantry is o’er,
    When youth is lost in age’s blast,
           And beauty can ascend no more,
    And when life’s journey ends with thee,
    O, then look back and think of me.
     
    I’ll love thee with a smile or frown,
           ’Mid sorrow’s gloom or pleasure’s light,
    And when the chain of life runs down,
           Pursue thy last eternal flight,
    When thou hast spread thy wing to flee,
    Still, still, a moment wait for me.
     
    I’ll love thee for those sparkling eyes,
          To which my fondness was betray’d,
    Bearing the tincture of the skies,
          To glow when other beauties fade,
    And when they sink too low to see,
    Reflect an azure beam on me.

    A love eternal, thrumming beyond death: honeyed red fruits, Bulgarian rose, mimosa, heliotrope, and red sandalwood.

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  • A vintage-looking photograph of an old-fashioned pen and inkwell with text reading "Letters to a Nasturtium A Lover Muses"

    Lines to a Nasturtium (A Lover Muses) Perfume Oil

    Anne Spencer

    Flame-flower, Day-torch, Mauna Loa,
    I saw a daring bee, today, pause, and soar,
    Into your flaming heart;
    Then did I hear crisp, crinkled laughter
    As the furies after tore him apart?
    A bird, next, small and humming,
    Looked into your startled depths and fled…
    Surely, some dread sight, and dafter
    Than human eyes as mine can see,
    Set the stricken air waves drumming
    In his flight.
     
    Day-torch, Flame-flower, cool-hot Beauty,
    I cannot see, I cannot hear your flutey;
    Voice lure your loving swain,
    But I know one other to whom you are in beauty
    Born in vain:
    Hair like the setting sun,
    Her eyes a rising star,
    Motions gracious as reeds by Babylon, bar
    All your competing;
    Hands like, how like, brown lilies sweet,
    Cloth of gold were fair enough to touch her feet.
    Ah, how the sense reels at my repeating,
    As once in her fire-lit heart I felt the furies
    Beating, beating.
     
    Hair like the setting sun, eyes a rising star, and a heart fire-lit: golden amber, warm nutmeg, cardamom pod, tolu balsam, sweet patchouli, vanilla absolute, wildflower honey, lovage root, and cacao.

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  • A vintage-looking photograph of an old-fashioned pen and inkwell with text reading "Sonnet"

    Sonnet Perfume Oil

    Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson

    I had not thought of violets late,
    The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
    In wistful April days, when lovers mate
    And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
    The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
    And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
    And garish lights, and mincing little fops
    And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.
    So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
    I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;
    The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
    Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
    And now—unwittingly, you’ve made me dream
    Of violets, and my soul’s forgotten gleam.

    Heaven-mounting dreams: a cluster of wild violets, the first lilac blossoms of spring, honeyed honeysuckle, ylang ylang, a touch of fennel, and cerise musk.

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