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  Ode on Melancholy Perfume Oil

  No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
  Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
  Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
  By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
  Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
  Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
  Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
  A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
  For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
  And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

  But when the melancholy fit shall fall
  Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
  That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
  And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
  Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
  Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
  Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
  Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
  Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
  And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

  She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die;
  And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
  Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
  Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
  Ay, in the very temple of Delight
  Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
  Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
  Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
  His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
  And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

  Beauty, joy, pleasure and delight: devastated. This is the scent of the hopelessness, torment and despair of love. Lavender and wisteria, heart-wrenching pale rose, desolate white sandalwood and thin, tear-streaked white musk.

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  Incubus Perfume Oil

  As if, with beasts’ eyes, angels led
  The way, I slip back to your bed,
  Quiet as a hooded light,
  Hushed by the shadows of the night.

  And then, my dark one, you shall soon
  Embrace the cold beams of the moon,
  Around a fresh grave, the chilling hiss
  Of serpent coiled shall be my kiss.

  When morning shows his livid face
  Your bed shall feel my empty place,
  As cold as death, till fall of night.

  Others take tenderness to wife:
  Dread gives away your youth and life
  To me, to be bride of fright.

  Spectral white musk and the heart-stopping chill of sheared mint, fanned by caramel-touched body heat, and the diabolical sensuality of black musk, nicotiana, and sage.

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  Death on a Pale Horse Perfume Oil

  And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

  The End of All Things: empty white musk and mint seeped with solemn lavender, doleful patchouli and vetiver, scythe-sharp yuzu and lime, with geranium bourbon, white sandalwood and calla lily.

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  Oberon Perfume Oil

  Orchid, white musk, and bergamot wafting over juniper berries, with a gentle touch of soft, earthy patchouli.

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