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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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  Wicked Perfume Oil

  A paean to all the Wicked Queens, Evil Stepmothers, and other misunderstood villainesses throughout history and lore. Lends an aura of majesty, refinement, strength, and a deep, brooding malice. A sophisticated, womanly scent: rich myrrh and jasmine draped in the subtlest rose.

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  Knave of Hearts Perfume Oil

  ‘Herald, read the accusation!’ said the King.

  On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:–

  ‘The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
  All on a summer day:
  The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
  And took them quite away!’

  Crushed roses and blackcurrant tarts.

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  Highwayman Perfume Oil

  A brace of loaded pistols
  He carried night and day;
  He never robbed a poor man
  Upon the king’s highway;
  But what he’d taken from the rich,
  Like Turpin and Black Bess,
  He always did divide it
  With the widow in distress.

  Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather

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