Well, if my heart must break,

    Dear love, for your sake,

It will break in music, I know;

    Poets’ hearts break so.

 

But strange that I was not told,

    That the brain can hold

In a tiny ivory cell

    God’s Heaven and Hell.

– Oscar Wilde

The shuddering beat of a poet’s heart ― filigree-fair, diaphanous: bourbon vanilla fougere, violet leaf, iris root, Italian bergamot, porcelain accord, and a trickle of red musk.