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  La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente Perfume Oil

  My limbs are wasted with a flame,
  My feet are sore with traveling,
  For, calling on my Lady’s name,
  My lips have now forgot to sing.

  O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
  Strain for my Love thy melody,
  O Lark sing louder for love’s sake,
  My gentle Lady passeth by.

  She is too fair for any man
  To see or hold his heart’s delight,
  Fairer than Queen or courtesan
  Or moonlit water in the night.

  Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
  (Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
  Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
  Of autumn corn are not more fair.

  Her little lips, more made to kiss
  Than to cry bitterly for pain,
  Are tremulous as brook-water is,
  Or roses after evening rain.

  Her neck is like white melilote
  Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
  The throbbing of the linnet’s throat
  Is not so sweet to look upon.

  As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
  White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
  Her cheeks are as the fading stain
  Where the peach reddens to the south.

  O twining hands! O delicate
  White body made for love and pain!
  O House of love! O desolate
  Pale flower beaten by the rain!

  Soft, lush myrtle and dry, sweet melilot with wild rose, pomegranate juice and peach blossom against a background of deep aquatic notes and a twirl of melancholy autumn breezes.

  Out of Stock
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  Mme. Moriarty, Misfortune Teller Perfume Oil

  A colorless woman bursts from an elaborate gold and ruby tent and faints dead at your feet. Soft laughter emits from the dark entrance to the tent, and the scent of musk, black fruits and incense touches your senses. Looking up, you see that the sign hovering above the unconscious woman is adorned with images of the Major Arcana’s Tower and reads:

  “Mme. Moriarty, Misfortune Teller.
  No fate too grim, no future too bleak.”

  A tiny woman with floor-length black dreadlocks walks out of the tent, stepping over the prone body. She is clothed in deep red wrappings, and is bedecked in golden ornaments bearing alchemical symbols and charms representing eternity, chance, and wisdom. She pauses, looks you over slowly, and then flicks a tarot card at your feet.

  Red musk, vanilla bean, pomegranate, black currant, patchouli leaf and wild plum.

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• 

  The Harlot’s House Perfume Oil

  We caught the tread of dancing feet,
  We loitered down the moonlit street,
  And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.

  Inside, above the din and fray,
  We heard the loud musicians play
  The “Treues Liebes Herz” of Strauss.

  Like strange mechanical grotesques,
  Making fantastic arabesques,
  The shadows raced across the blind.

  We watched the ghostly dancers spin
  To sound of horn and violin,
  Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

  Like wire-pulled automatons,
  Slim silhouetted skeletons
  Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

  The took each other by the hand,
  And danced a stately saraband;
  Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

  Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
  A phantom lover to her breast,
  Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

  Sometimes a horrible marionette
  Came out, and smoked its cigarette
  Upon the steps like a live thing.

  Then, turning to my love, I said,
  “The dead are dancing with the dead,
  The dust is whirling with the dust.”

  But she–she heard the violin,
  And left my side, and entered in:
  Love passed into the house of lust.

  Then suddenly the tune went false,
  The dancers wearied of the waltz,
  The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

  And down the long and silent street,
  The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
  Crept like a frightened girl.

  The dead are dancing with the dead, the dust is whirling with the dust: angel’s trumpet, violet, white sandalwood, oude, copaiba balsam, angelica, white tea, olibanum, and oakmoss.

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  The Soap Bubbles Perfume Oil

  Jan van Kessel

  Smoked champaca orchid, sweet brandy, frankincense resin, Moroccan jasmine absolute, King mandarin, tangerine, dried apricot, pomegranate seed, and bubbles.

  Out of Stock