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  Caterpillar Perfume Oil

  Heavy incense notes waft lazily through a mix of carnation, jasmine, bergamot, and neroli over a lush bed of dark mosses, iris blossom, deep patchouli and indolent vetiver.

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  Apostrophe of Time Perfume Oil

  O fleeting Time! whence art thou come?
  And whither do thy footsteps tend?
  Deep in the past where was thy home,
  And where thy future journey’s end?

  Thou art from vast eternity,
  And unto boundless regions found;
  But what and where’s infinity?
  And what know we of space unbound?

  The furrowed brow betokens age;
  But who thy centuries can tell?
  Was ancient seer or learned sage
  In wisdom’s lore e’er versed so well?

  Hast thou from childhood wandered thus,
  Companionless and lone, through space,
  With mystery o’er thy exodus,
  And darkness ’round thy resting place.

  What lengthened years have come and gone,
  Since thou thy tireless march began,
  Since Luna’s children sang at dawn,
  The wonders of creation’s plan?

  How many years of gloom and night
  Had passed, long ere yon king of day
  Had reigned his fiery steeds of light,
  And sped them on their shining way?

  Thou knowest — Thou alone, O thou!
  Omniscient and eternal Three!
  To whose broad eye all time is now —
  The past, with all eternity;

  In whose dread presence I shall stand,
  When time shall sink to rise no more,
  In that broad sea of thy command,
  Whose waves roll on, without a shore.
  – James Madison Bell

  The overwhelming incalculability of space, the glow and fade of countless days, the starry expanse of night. A scent that reaches into eternity and towards forever: glittering bergamot, lemon peel, and golden amber, star-flecked labdanum, neroli, and clary sage.

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  I Hear America Singing Perfume Oil

  I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
  Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
  The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
  The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
  The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
  The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
  The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
  The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
  Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
  The day what belongs to the day-at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
  Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
  – Walt Whitman

  A bright, sparkling scent, effervescent with joy and fiery with rekindled hope: golden musk and crystalline amber with Calabrian lemon peel, ti leaf, sweet vetiver, ginger root, neroli, and lime blossom.

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  House of Unquenchable Fire Perfume Oil

  O garment not golden but gilded,

  O garden where all men may dwell,

  O tower not of ivory, but builded

  By hands that reach heaven from hell;

  O mystical rose of the mire,

  O house not of gold but of gain,

  O house of unquenchable fire,

  Our Lady of Pain!

   

  Glittering amber, frankincense, neroli, vanilla silk, and champaca.

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