Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'A Demon in My View'.
Found 10 results
-
From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then - in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life - was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view. A hectic, frenzied pinpoint in desolation: booming, bleak, and dark with the horror of loneliness and reluctant solitude. Patchouli and cardamom with bright mandarin, labdanum, muguet, red sandalwood, angelica and gardenia. Label: In the bottle: Soft patchouli and a mellow earthiness. There are other notes dancing in the background, but they seem just out of reach, teasingly so. Wet, on skin: The patchouli is predominant, strong, even harsh, and it very much smells of wet earth and woods, long walks in isolation through wet wilderness. I don't really smell plants per se: this is all cliffs and wet chalk canyons, loamy soil and staring out over emptiness. Dry, on skin: A certain spiciness, undoubtedly the cardamom, starts to peak up its head, although it's not overwhelming. There is something, again, peaking out of the background, never easy to see -- wildflowers in the desert, the shape of a demon in the clouds. It's all subtle, subdued, isolated, but I can't help but feel that the end of this journey is an uplifting sort of place. Conclusion: This is really beautiful, and in my opinion definitely one of Beth's scent journeys (where the evolution of the order goes through different, wonderfully evocative stages.) I think I really like this, but I wonder how much MORE I'll like it if I let it age for a bit. I think this is a fragrance that will only grow better if given time.
-
Young flowers were whispering in melody To happy flowers that night - and tree to tree; Fountains were gushing music as they fell In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell; Yet silence came upon material things - Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings - And sound alone that from the spirit sprang Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang: 'Neath the blue-bell or streamer - Or tufted wild spray That keeps, from the dreamer, The moonbeam away - Bright beings! that ponder, With half closing eyes, On the stars which your wonder Hath drawn from the skies, Till they glance thro' the shade, and Come down to your brow Like - eyes of the maiden Who calls on you now - Arise! from your dreaming In violet bowers, To duty beseeming These star-litten hours - And shake from your tresses Encumber'd with dew The breath of those kisses That cumber them too - (O! how, without you, Love! Could angels be blest?) Those kisses of true Love That lull'd ye to rest! Up! - shake from your wing Each hindering thing: The dew of the night - It would weigh down your flight And true love caresses - O, leave them apart! They are light on the tresses, But lead on the heart. Honeyed lilies, dry lotus root and fae flowers. Am I the first? Eeek, the pressure! As I went through quickly sniffing the Hideous Throng when I first opened my package, Al-Araaf was one of the stand-outs. In the bottle, it smells cool and clean, yet musky. Not too sweet, and the tiniest bit masculine - these are all good things to my nose. Then I read the description and was very confused - a honey/floral scent? This? Hmmm. On, the clean, musky scent persists for about ten minutes - then the honey emerges. Honey is a difficult note for me, as my chemistry tends to sweeten anything I put on it, so the already-sweet scents can be a little overbearing. I definitely like the initial stage more, but the drydown is pleasant, and fans of honey scents should be very pleased. I think I'll try wearing a bit in my hair, where my uber-sweet chemistry can't mess with it!
-
SPIRITS OF THE DEAD Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness - for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! A shuddering white scent, of ghostly breath and stony silence: dry tea leaf, linden blossom, papyrus, orris and coffin wood. This smells just like Maiden, minus all that nasty nasty carnation. I am so totally and completely thrilled by this discover. I am terrible with reviews; to me this is lovely unsweetened black tea with an underpinning of white woods (the kind that have fallen off the tree but aren't totally dry and dessicated yet; they still have a touch of life to them) and a smidge of greenery. Absolutely wonderful.
-
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll! - a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear? - weep now or nevermore! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read - the funeral song be sung! - An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young - A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. "Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her - that she died! How shall the ritual, then, be read? - the requiem how be sung By you - by yours, the evil eye, - by yours, the slanderous tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong. The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride. For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes The life still there, upon her hair - the death upon her eyes. "Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven - From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven - From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven! Let no bell toll, then, - lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth, Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth! And I! - to-night my heart is light! - no dirge will I upraise, But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!" A dark and bellicose scent that speaks of loss, lament, bitterness and breast-beating woe: thick black vetiver, sharp white musk and lemon peel, smoke and saffron, patchouli, thyme and black plum. Label: Ah, how lovely ”” but dark, ever so dark. This is thick, brooding, black: the vetiver and patchouli are strong with my chemistry, with an herbal edge from the thyme and layered all over with the waft of smoke. I didn't pick up any of the lighter notes: the lemon peel, saffron or plum. No, that might have given this a happier air, and on me this perfume is full of tragedy and waste. This is the scent off the fresh grave, the tomb not yet sealed, the funereal pyre cooled to ash, the guilty conscience. It's not unpleasant, just as there can be a certain release in wallowing in melancholy and the macabre, but it certainly is as black as night and strong as death. Ah, definitely the scent to wear while committing poetry.
-
In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace - Radiant palace - reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion - It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This - all this - was in the olden Time long ago,) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene!) In state his glory well-befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn! - for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh - but smile no more. The moment before the ruin, frozen. The scent of captured glory, of glowing pearls and rubies, of golden sunlit joy and regal grandeur: red rose, Tunisian amber, blood orange, toasted vanilla, heliotrope, gardenia and red musk. This is another one I just tested and have not worn, so this is subject to change. I expected this to be heavier, but it is fairly lightweight. The blood orange is apparent when wet. After it starts drying down, I get a melange of amber and gardenia with a slight vanilla tinge in the background. This is very well blended. It's not heavy on the red musk either, as I sometimes can't wear Red Musk and it's too heavy on me but this scent must not have that much in it, as I don't get that heavy feeling. I really like this. I may need to purchase a 2nd bottle of this one.
-
At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And, softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top, Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley. The rosemary nods upon the grave; The lily lolls upon the wave; Wrapping the fog about its breast, The ruin molders into rest; Looking like Lethe, see! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take, And would not, for the world, awake. All Beauty sleeps! - and lo! where lies Irene, with her Destinies! O, lady bright! can it be right - This window open to the night? The wanton airs, from the tree-top, Laughingly through the lattice drop - The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully - so fearfully - Above the closed and fringed lid 'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, That, o'er the floor and down the wall, Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? Why and what art thou dreaming here? Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress, Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie For ever with unopened eye, While the pale sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold - Some vault that oft has flung its black And winged panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals - Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone - Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within. Night-blooming jasmine, opium poppy, wild rosemary, Calla lily, oakmoss and crypt musk. In the bottle, I can smell something sharp and pungent, almost "spiky" smelling - that's definitely the rosemary! The sharpness persists when the oil is wet on my skin; it's an assertive and somewhat disquieting smell to my nose. I often see the term "feral" used in the description of musky scents, and for once I actually am finding a musky scent "animalistic" rather than clean or warm. I think it's the combination of the rosemary's sharpness and the "crypt musk" - wet, this oil is a little to pungent for my skin to handle! The Sleeper mellows considerably on drydown, for which I am thankful - the rosemary fades and blends with the other notes, and the florals make a subtle appearance. There's a slight smoky/spicy feel to it, which I'm thinking might be the opium poppy. It's really quite lovely, now that the rosemary's playing nice! I'm having a hard time pinning down the crypt musk, other than as an underlying warmth; musk fanatic that I am, it's driving me nuts that I can't isolate it. I'm thinking perhaps it's a bit like black musk, but more dusty. In all, a very complicated and definitely a morpher on me. Fascinating!
-
'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold - too cold for me - There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light. A chill, crystalline nocturnal perfume: moonflower with oriental poppy, fairy lily, orris and night gladiolus. Label: In the bottle: Oh yes! YES! Err...sorry, excuse me. I let myself get a little carried away there. This smells very nice though, so I'm sure you can forgive me, yes? Ah, it's such a light, beautiful scent in the bottle, very much a night-time fragrance. Oh, such a gorgeous floral. Wet, on skin: Even more gorgeous, because it hits my skin and does NOT morph into something hideous. Rather, I feel this a serene fragrance, and yes, very much chill, very much crystalline, very much beautiful. I think someone who doesn't normally love floral scents might still adore this. Dry, on skin: It deepens, but never becomes cloying, never becomes over-the top. This fragrance is sophisticated without being gauche, mature without being stale, elegant without being boring. It is very much amazing. It doesn't seem to have a terrible strong throw, but there are times when I frankly don't want my neighbors smelling me. Conclusion: Just beautiful.
-
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me - Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling - my darling - my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. A soft, innocent blend, touched with a funereal, gloom-filled air: wild peony, sweet pea, cucumber and white sage with sea lilies and moss. In the bottle, I smell sage and cucumber right off the bat. On: This is very light and pretty. Cucumber is one of my favorite notes, and with the moss it balances out what would be perfumy floral blend. The cucumber and moss give me a fresh, green impression. This is a definite keeper, but I'm saving it for spring.
-
DREAMLAND By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule - From a wild clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE - out of TIME. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the tears that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters - lone and dead, - Their still waters - still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead, - Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily, - By the mountains- near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, - By the grey woods,- by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp - By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls, - By each spot the most unholy - In each nook most melancholy - There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of the Past - Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by - White-robed forms of friends long given, In agony, to the Earth - and Heaven. For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region - For the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis - oh, 'tis an Eldorado! But the traveller, travelling through it, May not - dare not openly view it! Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses. By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule. The shadowy, fitful scent of nightmare, rife with ill-omen: osmanthus and tuberose over pulsating, heated skin musk, spiked carnation, night phlox and vesper iris. I will attempt a short reveiw, however, this is very light on me and my sinuses are not cooperating very well. I put this on my wrist an hour or so ago and it is so faint that I can barely detect it (another scent I hope will strengthen with aging). Maybe after slathering this on, I'll have a different opinion though. I can only detect a very tiny bit of carnation in this in a tiny base of *very light* musk. I'm totally ignorant to vesper iris and tuberrose. I've smelled osmanthus and night phlox before in blends and I can slightly detect them blending in with the musk and carnation, but again it is faint. There is not one signle note that is loud in this blend and no one single note takes the lead. It is very smooth and well blended. This is very understated. If you don't like wearing "perfumey" blends, this is your blend. If you want to wear perfume and don't want to make a statement, this is your blend.
-
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently - Gleams up the pinnacles far and free - Up domes - up spires- up kingly halls - Up fanes - up Babylon-like walls - Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers - Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye - Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass - No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea - No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave- there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide - As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow - The hours are breathing faint and low - And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. The scent of Death's seaside throne: luminous aquatic notes threaded through by creeping ivies, white woods, waving kelp and bruised violets. Label: This scent has put me in a strange frame of mind, so forgive me. It's hard one to describe, but I'll give it a go: Go down to the beach, but do not stay there. No gritty sand and tumbling surf for you -- no marine layer mists and rum drinks, no pirate grog or sea spray, no suntan oil, no littered strand after the storm. No, that is not for you. Your way is older. Your way is ancient. You have come to this sea, these waters, long, long before. Walk into the tide, let the cold water wrap around you. Don't try to swim. Don't try to breath: there is no air as pure as the sea. Sink, walk, glide into the mazurine depths, until you reach Tethys' realm beyond the reach of Man. Let the tides flow over you as you move into the abyss. Smell the ocean salt water filling your lungs, feel the kelp caress you, twining through your hair like school-girl ribbons as you walk towards home.
