Lavender Bud
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A Hymn to the Evening Perfume Oil
Add to cartPhillis 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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Draconic Bedtime Stories Perfume Oil
Out of StockProtip: make sure they all live happily ever after. Dragon’s blood resin, lavender bud, hops, fir needle, and incense smoke.
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Mysterious Garden Perfume Oil
Out of StockMargaret Macdonald Mackintosh
Misty lilac, lavender bud, white tuberose, white plum, pink labdanum, and hypnotic tendrils of springtime incense. -
Slumber Ghoul Perfume Oil
Out of StockThe air in the room chilled, then soured. The children exchanged a glance, as if to say: It’s here.
Sleepy lavender bud, the memory of warm milk, a splinter of bone dust, and a clawful of upturned grave loam. -
To a Wreath of Snow Perfume Oil
Out of StockO transient voyager of heaven!
O silent sign of winter skies!
What adverse wind thy sail has driven
To dungeons where a prisoner lies?
Methinks the hands that shut the sun
So sternly from this mourning brow
Might still their rebel task have done
And checked a thing so frail as thou
They would have done it had they known
The talisman that dwelt in thee,
For all the suns that ever shone
Have never been so kind to me!
For many a week, and many a day
My heart was weighed with sinking gloom
When morning rose in mourning grey
And faintly lit my prison room
But angel like, when I awoke,
Thy silvery form so soft and fair
Shining through darkness, sweetly spoke
Of cloudy skies and mountains bare
The dearest to a mountaineer
Who, all life long has loved the snow
That crowned her native summits drear,
Better, than greenest plains below –
And voiceless, soulless messenger
Thy presence waked a thrilling tone
That comforts me while thou art here
And will sustain when thou art gone
– Emily Brontë
Morning rising in mourning grey: tobacco flower, white oud, lavender bud, and ambergris accord.