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  Titania Perfume Oil

  A nocturnal bounty of fae dew-kissed petals and pale fruits: white grape, white peach, iced pear, musk rose, sweet pea, moonflower and snapdragon.

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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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  Black Rose Perfume Oil

  Exquisitely melancholy. The background scent to an ancient exequies. Heavy, dark and floral: a blend of roses, with a touch of amber and musk.

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  Kubla Khan Perfume Oil

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
  A stately pleasure-dome decree:
  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
  Through caverns measureless to man
  Down to a sunless sea.

  So twice five miles of fertile ground
  With walls and towers were girdled round:
  And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
  Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
  And here were forests ancient as the hills,
  Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
  But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
  Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
  A savage place! as holy and enchanted
  As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
  By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
  And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
  As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
  A mighty fountain momently was forced:
  Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
  Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
  Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
  And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
  It flung up momently the sacred river.
  Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
  Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
  Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
  And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
  And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
  Ancestral voices prophesying war!

  The shadow of the dome of pleasure
  Floated midway on the waves;
  Where was heard the mingled measure
  From the fountain and the caves.
  It was a miracle of rare device,
  A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

  A damsel with a dulcimer
  In a vision once I saw:
  It was an Abyssinian maid,
  And on her dulcimer she played,
  Singing of Mount Abora.
  Could I revive within me
  Her symphony and song,
  To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
  That with music loud and long
  I would build that dome in air,
  That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
  And all who heard should see them there,
  And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
  His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
  Weave a circle round him thrice,
  And close your eyes with holy dread,
  For he on honey-dew hath fed
  And drunk the milk of Paradise.

  Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.

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