Nicotiana Tabacum

  • This image is decorative

    Chant d’Automne Perfume Oil

    I
    Soon we will sink in the frigid darkness
    Good-bye, brightness of our too short summers!
    I already hear the fall in distress
    Of the wood falling in the paved courtyard.

    Winter will invade my being: anger,
    Hatred, chills, horror, hard and forced labor,
    And, like the sun in its iced inferno,
    My heart is but a red and frozen floe.

    I hear with shudders each weak limb that falls.
    The scaffold will have no louder echo.
    My spirit is like a tower that yields
    Under the tireless and heavy ram blow.

    It seems, lulled by this monotonous sound,
    Somewhere a coffin is hastily nailed,
    For whom? Summer yesterday, autumn now!
    This mysterious noise sounds like a farewell.

    II
    I love the greenish light of your long eyes,
    Sweet beauty, but all is bitter today.
    Nothing, not love, the boudoir or the hearth
    Is dearer than the sunshine on the sea.

    Still love me, tender heart! Be a mother
    Even to the ingrate, to the wicked,
    Lover, sister, ephemeral sweetness
    Of fall’s glory or of the setting sun.

    Short-lived task! The tomb awaits, merciless.
    Ah! Let me, my head resting on your knees,
    Savor, regretting the white hot summer,
    The autumn’s last rays yellow and tender.

    The scent of the year’s fall and the setting sun, ominous and foreboding: dried leaves, charred wood, blood musk, amber, khus, and Nicotiana tabacum.

    Out of Stock