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  Rose Red 2024 Perfume Oil

  The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut.

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  Moscow Perfume Oil

  A rich, bold blend of imperial rose, carnation, lush jasmine, lily of the valley, dark musk, amber, bergamot and gilded tangerine.

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  The Forest Reverie Perfume Oil

  ‘Tis said that when
  The hands of men
  Tamed this primeval wood,
  And hoary trees with groans of woe,
  Like warriors by an unknown foe,
  Were in their strength subdued,
  The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
  To springs that ne’er did flow
  That in the sun Did rivulets run,
  And all around rare flowers did blow
  The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
  And the queenly lily adown the dale
  (Whom the sun and the dew
  And the winds did woo),
  With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.

  So when in tears
  The love of years
  Is wasted like the snow,
  And the fine fibrils of its life
  By the rude wrong of instant strife
  Are broken at a blow
  Within the heart
  Do springs upstart
  Of which it doth now know,
  And strange, sweet dreams,
  Like silent streams
  That from new fountains overflow,
  With the earlier tide
  Of rivers glide
  Deep in the heart whose hope has died —
  Quenching the fires its ashes hide, —
  Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
  Sweet flowers, ere long,
  The rare and radiant flowers of song!

  A sunlit ancient forest, dotted with wild roses, grape vine, and queenly lilies, clothed in swirls of opium smoke.

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• 

  On Houses Perfume Oil

  Then a mason came forth and said, Speak to us of Houses.

       And he answered and said:

       Build of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness ere you build a house within the city walls.

       For even as you have home-comings in your twilight, so has the wanderer in you, the ever distant and alone.

       Your house is your larger body.

       It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night; and it is not dreamless. Does not your house dream? and dreaming, leave the city for a grove or hill-top?

   

       Would that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.

       Would the valleys were your streets, and the green paths your alleys, that you might seek one another through vineyards, and come with the fragrance of the earth in your garments.

       But these things are not yet to be.

       In their fear your forefathers gathered you too near together. And that fear shall endure a little longer. A little longer shall your city walls separate your hearths from your fields.

   

       And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors?

       Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?

       Have you rememberances, the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?

       Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?

       Tell me, have you these in your houses?

       Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master?

   

       Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.

       Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.

       It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.

       It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.

       Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.

   

       But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.

       Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.

       It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.

       You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.

       You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.

       And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.

       For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.

  
  Morning mist and the songs and the silences of night: a soft, hazy nocturne of moonflower, dew-touched lavender buds, rose hips, and night-blooming jasmine.
  

  The sales from April’s scents from the Prophet series benefits Lutheran Settlement House, who provides food access, homelessness services, domestic violence services, senior care, and educational resources to Philadelphia’s communities.

   

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