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Weight | 1 oz |
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$29.00
The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut.
Weight | 1 oz |
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– Dirty
A fresh, crisp white linen scent: perfectly clean, perfectly breezy.
– Kumiho
A sharp, biting blend of crisp white tea and ginger.
– Manhattan
A meeting of modern, sleek elegance and rich, passionate history: sheer amber, black leather, white mint, lemon peel, white tea, grapefruit, kush, teakwood and orchid.
– Neutral
A flawless skin musk.
– Qandisa
Black musk, blackened saffron, lemon peel, and vetiver draped over thick honey.
– Shanghai
The crisp, clean scent of green tea touched with lemon verbena and honeysuckle.
Dr. E. S. Packard, of Corunna, Me., in the Eastern Star, states that Mr. David Prescott, of South Sangerville, over ninety years of age, “wandered away into the woods, and not returning, a crowd of over a hundred men hunted for him nearly two days; the mill pond near his house was drained. Search was made in every direction but to no success.
“A gentleman of that place decided to call in the aid of Mrs. Stevens; she told him somebody was lost, and not being able to visit the place she drew a map or chart of the locality, giving directions, by which, on his return he was immediately found alive, but died the next day. The day following I was at South Sangerville, and stopping at this gentleman’s house, examined the map, which was perfect in every respect. The house and shed were correctly drawn, the mill and pond near the house were marked, the field and woods, two fences over which Mr. Prescott must climb, even to the swinging of the road by the house was definitely given.
“The spot where she said he was, was shown by a large black mark, and he was found exactly in that place. When we consider that Mrs. Stevens never saw this place in her normal condition, it is to me a wonderful test of spirit power.”
Absolute and perfect clarity: rockrose, white amber, Corsican immortelle, Siamese benzoin, white sandalwood, and life everlasting.
This Spiritualism is the nepenthe which the ancient philosophers sought, to prolong life for ever; you cast off your bodies like an old garment. The pathway of this new science is as clear to the spirit as the names of the constellations are to the astronomer. In the great realm of the spirit there is no room for death to abide ; he has gone out with the ignorance, and blindness, and prejudice of the past, and life, only life, remains as your inheritance.
Mrs. Tappan then paused. After a moment’s silence she delivered the following inspirational poem:—
O beautiful white mother Death,
Thou silent and shadowy soul,
Thou mystical, magical soul,
How soothing and cooling thy breath!
Ere the morning stars sang in their spheres,
Thou didst dwell in the spirit of things,
Brooding there with thy wonderful wings,
Incubating the germs of the years.
Coeval with Time and with Space,
Thy sisters are Silence and Sleep ;
Three sisters—Death, Silence, and Sleep,
How strange and how still is thy face!
In the marriage of matter to soul,”
Thou wert wedded to young fiery Time,
The now weary and hoary-haired Time,
With him thou hast shared earth’s control.
O beautiful spirit of Death,
Thy brothers are Winter and Night;
Stern Winter and shadowy Night,
They bear thy still image and breath.
Summer buds fall asleep in thy arms,
’Neath the fleecy and soft-footed snow,
The silent, pure, beautiful snow;
And the earth their new life-being warms.
All the world is endowed with thy breath,
Summer splendours and purple of wine
Flow out of this magic of thine,
O beautiful angel of Death
What wonders in silence we see
The lily grows pale in thy sight;
The rose thro’ the long summer night
Sighs its life out in fragrance to thee.
O beautiful angel of Death,
The beloved are thine, all are thine !
They have drunk the nepenthe divine,
They have felt the full flow of thy breath.
Out into thy realm they are gone,
Like the incense that greeteth the morn,
On the wings of thy might they’re up-borne,
As bright birds to thy Paradise flown.
They are folded and safe in thy sight,
Thro’ thy portals they pass from earth’s prison;
From the cold clod of clay they have risen,
To dwell in thy temple of light.
O beautiful Angel of Life,
Germs feel thee and burst into bloom,
Souls see thee and rise from the tomb,
With beauty and loveliness rife.
On earth thou art named cold Death,
Dim, dark, dismal, dire, dreadful Death,
In heaven thou art “Angel of Life.”
We are one with thy spirit, O Death ;
We spring to thy arms unafraid,
One with thee are our glad spirits made.
We are born when we drink thy cold breath,—
Oh, Angel of Life, lovely Death.
The concluding hymn was then sung, after which Mrs. Tappan uttered the following benediction—“ May the peace of the loving spirit of the Heavenly Father and His angels abide with you, and the life that knows no death bear you on to the immortal world.”
The Spiritualist, Oct. 15, 1873
Poem by Cora L.V. Richmond
The lily grows pale in thy sight; the rose, through the long summer night, sighs its life out in fragrance to thee.
“Most of the Gaelic poets, down to quite recent times, have had a Leanhaun Shee, for she gives inspiration to her slaves and is indeed the Gaelic muse — this malignant fairy. Her lovers, the Gaelic poets, died young. She grew restless and carried them away to other worlds, for death does not destroy her power.” – W.B. Yeats
The name translates to “fairy, love of my soul”. A vampiric spirit and a dark muse, the love of the Leanan Sidhe is both a gift and a curse. These eerily beautiful Irish spirits drain the sanity and lifeforce of the men they inspire to artistic greatness. Her kiss infuses a man with depth of vision and feeling, otherworldly passion, and a sudden and ineffable understanding of the unending sadness that plagues mankind. Her perfume is a crush of Irish herbs and flowers, Gaelic mists, and nighttime dew.
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