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  Proverbs 24:11-12 Perfume Oil

  Rescue those who are being taken away to death; hold back those who are stumbling to the slaughter. If you say, “Behold, we did not know this,” does not he who weighs the heart perceive it? Does not he who keeps watch over your soul know it, and will he not repay man according to his work?

  Blackened oudh, leather, labdanum, and oakmoss.

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  Le Lèthè Perfume Oil

  Viens sur mon coeur, âme cruelle et sourde,
  Tigre adoré, monstre aux airs indolents;
  Je veux longtemps plonger mes doigts tremblants
  Dans l’épaisseur de ta crinière lourde;

  Dans tes jupons remplis de ton parfum
  Ensevelir ma tête endolorie,
  Et respirer, comme une fleur flétrie,
  Le doux relent de mon amour défunt.

  Je veux dormir! dormir plutôt que vivre!
  Dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort,
  J’étalerai mes baisers sans remords
  Sur ton beau corps poli comme le cuivre.

  Pour engloutir mes sanglots apaisés
  Rien ne me vaut l’abîme de ta couche;
  L’oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche,
  Et le Léthé coule dans tes baisers.

  À mon destin, désormais mon délice,
  J’obéirai comme un prédestiné;
  Martyr docile, innocent condamné,
  Dont la ferveur attise le supplice,

  Je sucerai, pour noyer ma rancoeur,
  Le népenthès et la bonne ciguë
  Aux bouts charmants de cette gorge aiguë
  Qui n’a jamais emprisonné de coeur.

  – – –

  Come, lie upon my breast, cruel, insensitive soul,
  Adored tigress, monster with the indolent air;
  I want to plunge trembling fingers for a long time
  In the thickness of your heavy mane,

  To bury my head, full of pain
  In your skirts redolent of your perfume,
  To inhale, as from a withered flower,
  The moldy sweetness of my defunct love.

  I wish to sleep! to sleep rather than live!
  In a slumber doubtful as death,
  I shall remorselessly cover with my kisses
  Your lovely body polished like copper.

  To bury my subdued sobbing
  Nothing equals the abyss of your bed,
  Potent oblivion dwells upon your lips
  And Lethe flows in your kisses.

  My fate, hereafter my delight,
  I’ll obey like one predestined;
  Docile martyr, innocent man condemned,
  Whose fervor aggravates the punishment.

  I shall suck, to drown my rancor,
  Nepenthe and the good hemlock
  From the charming tips of those pointed breasts
  That have never guarded a heart.

  Red musk and sweat-damp golden skin musk with labdanum, golden amber, nutmeg, tobacco absolute, black orchid, and hemlock accord.

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  Kroenen Perfume Oil

  Shining black leather, gleaming metal, labdanum, and myrrh.

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  Arkham Perfume Oil

  Behind everything crouched the brooding, festering horror of the ancient town, and of the mouldy, unhallowed garret gable where he wrote and studied and wrestled with figures and formulae when he was not tossing on the meager iron bed. His ears were growing sensitive to a preternatural and intolerable degree, and he had long ago stopped the cheap mantel clock whose ticking had come to seem like a thunder of artillery. At night the subtle stirring of the black city outside, the sinister scurrying of rats in the wormy partitions, and the creaking of hidden timbers in the centuried house, were enough to give him a sense of strident pandemonium. The darkness always teemed with unexplained sound – and yet he sometimes shook with fear lest the noises he heard should subside and allow him to hear certain other fainter noises which he suspected were lurking behind them.

  He was in the changeless, legend-haunted city of Arkham, with its clustering gambrel roofs that sway and sag over attics where witches hid from the King’s men in the dark, olden years of the Province.

  A shadowy, unapproachable forest of maple, birch, dogwood, cypress and pine softened by a garland of New England wildflowers: bergamot, columbine, rue anemone, blue violet, creeping phlox, bloodroot, toadflax, and pixie moss.

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