Lavender Bud

  • 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.

    Add to cart

  • Mysterious Garden Perfume Oil

    Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh


    Misty lilac, lavender bud, white tuberose, white plum, pink labdanum, and hypnotic tendrils of springtime incense.

    Out of Stock
  • slumberghoul

    Slumber Ghoul Perfume Oil

    The 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.

    Add to cart
  • to a wreath of snow

    To a Wreath of Snow Perfume Oil

    O 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.

    Add to cart