Fragrant Quote for june 20th, 2012-A Thousand-mile Walk to the Gulf By John Muir

"In the Foothills of the Mountains" Image Credit


Fragrant Quote for june 20th, 2012-A Thousand-mile Walk to the Gulf By John Muir

Never shall I forget my baptism in this font. It happened in January, a resurrection day for many a plant and for me. I suddenly found myself on one of its hills; the Hollow overflowed with light, as a fountain, and only small, sunless nooks were kept for mosseries and ferneries. Hollow Creek spangled and mazed like a river. The ground steamed with fragrance. Light, of unspeakable richness, was brooding the flowers. Truly, said I, is California the Golden State — in metallic gold, in sun gold, and in plant gold. The sunshine for a whole summer seemed condensed into the chambers of that one glowing day. Every trace of dimness had been washed from the sky; the mountains were dusted and wiped clean with clouds — Pacheco Peak and Mount Diablo, and the waved blue wall between; the grand Sierra stood along the plain, colored in four horizontal bands: — the lowest, rose purple; the next higher, dark purple; the next, blue; and, above all, the white row of summits pointing to the heavens.

Fragrant Quote for june 19th, 2012-Steep trails: California, Utah, Nevada, Washington, Oregon, the Grand Canon By John Muir

Fragrant Quote for june 19th, 2012-Steep trails: California, Utah, Nevada, Washington, Oregon, the Grand Canon By John Muir

Yet, strange to say, there are days even here somewhat dull-looking, when the mountain seems uncommunicative, sending out no appreciable invitation, as if not at home. At such times its height seems much less, as if, crouching and weary, it were taking rest. But Shasta is always at home to those who love her, and is ever in a thrill of enthusiastic activity — burning fires within, grinding glaciers without, and fountains ever flowing. Every crystal dances responsive to the touches of the sun, and currents of sap in the growing cells of all the vegetation are ever in a vital whirl and rush, and though many feet and wings are folded, how many are astir! And the wandering winds, how busy they are, and what a breadth of sound and motion they make, glinting and bubbling about the crags of the summit, sifting through the woods, feeling their way from grove to grove, ruffling the loose hair on the shoulders of the bears, fanning and rocking young birds in their cradles, making a trumpet of every corolla, and carrying their fragrance around the world.

Fragrant Quote for june 18th, 2012-My First Summer in the Sierra By John Muir

Fragrant Quote for june 18th, 2012-My First Summer in the Sierra By John Muir

August 27. — Clouds only .05, — mostly white and pink cumuli over the Hoffman spur towards evening, — frosty morning. Crystals grow in marvelous beauty and perfection of form these still nights, every one built as carefully as the grandest holiest temple, as if planned to endure forever.

Contemplating the lace-like fabric of streams outspread over the mountains, we are reminded that everything is flowing — going somewhere, animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as water. Thus the snow flows fast or slow in grand beauty-making glaciers and avalanches; the air in majestic floods carrying minerals, plant leaves, seeds, spores, with streams of music and fragrance; water

streams carrying rocks both in solution and in the form of mud particles, sand, pebbles, and boulders. Rocks flow from volcanoes like water from springs, and animals flock together and flow in currents modified by stepping, leaping, gliding, flying, swimming, etc. While the stars go streaming through space pulsed on and on forever like blood globules in Nature's warm heart.

Fragrant Quote for June 17th, 2012 from My First Summer in the Sierra By John Muir

Never while anything is left of me shall this first camp be forgotten. It has fairly grown into me, not merely as memory pictures, but as part and parcel of mind and body alike. The deep hopper-like hollow, with its majestic trees through which all the wonderful nights the stars poured their beauty. The flowery wildness of the high steep slope toward Brown's Flat, and its bloom-fragrance descending at the close of the still days. The embowered river-reaches with their multitude of voices making melody, the stately flow and rush and glad exulting onsweeping currents caressing the dipping sedge-leaves and bushes and mossy stones, swirling in pools, dividing against little flowery islands, breaking gray and white here and there, ever rejoicing, yet with deep solemn undertones recalling the ocean, — the brave little bird ever beside them, singing with sweet human tones among the waltzing foam-bells, and like a blessed evangel explaining God's love. And the Pilot Peak Ridge, its long withdrawing slopes gracefully modeled and braided, reaching from climate to climate, feathered with trees that are the kings of their race, their ranks nobly marshaled to view, spire above spire, crown above crown, waving their long, leafy arms, tossing their cones like ringing bells, — blessed sun-fed mountaineers rejoicing in their strength, every tree tuneful, a harp for the winds and the sun. The hazel and buckthorn pastures of the deer, the sun-beaten brows purple and yellow with mint and golden-rods, carpeted with chamcebatia, humming with bees. And the dawns and sunrises and sundowns of these mountain days, — the rose light creeping higher among the stars, changing to daffodil yellow, the level beams bursting forth, streaming across the ridges, touching pine after pine, awakening and warming all the mighty host to do gladly their shining day's work. The great sun-gold noons, the alabaster cloud-mountains, the landscape beaming with consciousness like the face of a god. The sunsets, when the trees stood hushed awaiting their goodnight blessings. Divine, enduring, unwastable wealth.

Fragrant Quote for June 16th, 2012 from The Yosemite By John Muir

Yosemite Falls




Fragrant Quote for June 16th, 2012 from The Yosemite By John Muir

It was raining hard when I awoke, but I made up my mind to disregard the weather, put on my dripping clothing, glad to know it was fresh and clean; ate biscuits and a piece of dried salmon without attempting to make a tea fire; filled a bag with hardtack, slung it over my shoulder, and with my indispensable ice-axe plunged once more into the dripping jungle. I found my bridge holding bravely in place against the swollen torrent, crossed it and beat my way around pools and logs and through two hours of tangle back to the moraine on the north side of the outlet, — a wet, weary battle but not without enjoyment. The smell of the washed ground and vegetation made every breath a pleasure, and I found Calypso borealis, the first I had seen on this side of the continent, one of my darlings, worth any amount of hardship; and I saw one of my Douglas squirrels on the margin of a grassy pool. The drip of the rain on the various leaves was pleasant to hear. More especially marked were the flat, low-toned bumps and plashes of large drops from the trees on the broad horizontal leaves of Echinopanax horridum, like the drumming of thunder-shower drops on vera trum and palm leaves, while the mosses were indescribably beautiful, so fresh, so bright, so cheerily green, and all so low and calm and silent, however heavy and wild the wind and the rain blowing and pouring above them. Surely never a particle of dust has touched leaf or crown of all these blessed mosses; and how bright were the red rims of the cladonia cups beside them, and the fruit of the dwarf cornel! And the wet berries, Nature's precious jewelry, how beautiful they were! — huckleberries with pale bloom and a crystal drop on each; red and yellow salmon-berries, with clusters of smaller drops; and the glittering, berry-like raindrops adorning the interlacing arches of bent grasses and sedges around the edges of the pools, every drop a mirror with all the landscape in it. A' that and a' that and twice as muckle's a' that in this glorious Alaska day, recalling, however different, George Herbert's "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright."

Fragrant Quote for June 15th, 2012 from The Yosemite By John Muir

Great Canyon of the Sierra, Yosemite
It was raining hard when I awoke, but I made up my mind to disregard the weather, put on my dripping clothing, glad to know it was fresh and clean; ate biscuits and a piece of dried salmon without attempting to make a tea fire; filled a bag with hardtack, slung it over my shoulder, and with my indispensable ice-axe plunged once more into the dripping jungle. I found my bridge holding bravely in place against the swollen torrent, crossed it and beat my way around pools and logs and through two hours of tangle back to the moraine on the north side of the outlet, — a wet, weary battle but not without enjoyment. The smell of the washed ground and vegetation made every breath a pleasure, and I found Calypso borealis, the first I had seen on this side of the continent, one of my darlings, worth any amount of hardship; and I saw one of my Douglas squirrels on the margin of a grassy pool. The drip of the rain on the various leaves was pleasant to hear. More especially marked were the flat, low-toned bumps and plashes of large drops from the trees on the broad horizontal leaves of Echinopanax horridum, like the drumming of thunder-shower drops on vera trum and palm leaves, while the mosses were indescribably beautiful, so fresh, so bright, so cheerily green, and all so low and calm and silent, however heavy and wild the wind and the rain blowing and pouring above them. Surely never a particle of dust has touched leaf or crown of all these blessed mosses; and how bright were the red rims of the cladonia cups beside them, and the fruit of the dwarf cornel! And the wet berries, Nature's precious jewelry, how beautiful they were! — huckleberries with pale bloom and a crystal drop on each; red and yellow salmon-berries, with clusters of smaller drops; and the glittering, berry-like raindrops adorning the interlacing arches of bent grasses and sedges around the edges of the pools, every drop a mirror with all the landscape in it. A' that and a' that and twice as muckle's a' that in this glorious Alaska day, recalling, however different, George Herbert's "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright."

Fragrant Quote for june 14th, 2012-The boyhood of a naturalist: by John Muir By John Muir



American White Water Lily


Fragrant Quote for june 14th, 2012-The boyhood of a naturalist: by John Muir By John Muir

On Sundays, after or before chores and sermons and Bible-lessons, we drifted about on the lake for hours, especially in lily time, getting finest lessons and sermons from the water and flowers, ducks, fishes, and muskrats. In particular we took Christ's advice and devoutly "considered the lilies" — how they grow up in beauty out of gray lime mud, and ride gloriously among the breezy sun-spangles. On our way home we gathered grand bouquets of them to be kept fresh all the week. No flower was hailed with greater wonder and admiration by the European settlers in general — Scotch, English, and Irish — than this white water-lily (Nympheea odorata). It is a magnificent plant, queen of the inland waters, pure white, three or four inches in diameter, the most beautiful, sumptuous, and deliciously fragrant of all our Wisconsin flowers. No lily garden in civilization we had ever seen could compare with our lake garden.

Fragrant Quote for june 13th, 2012-The boyhood of a naturalist: by John Muir By John Muir

Brown headed Thrush


Fragrant Quote for june 13th, 2012-The boyhood of a naturalist: by John Muir By John Muir

None of the bird people of Wisconsin welcomed us more heartily than the common robin. Far from showing alarm at the coming of settlers into their native woods, they reared their young around our gardens as if they liked us, and how heartily we admired the beauty and fine manners of these graceful birds and their loud cheery song of Fear not, fear not, cheer up, cheer up. It was easy to love them for they reminded us of the robin redbreast of Scotland. Like the bluebirds they dared every danger in defense of home, and we often wondered that birds so gentle could be so bold and that sweetvoiced singers could so fiercely fight and scold.

Of all the great singers that sweeten Wisconsin one of the best known and best loved is the brown thrush or thrasher, strong and able without being familiar, and easily seen and heard. Rosy purple evenings after thundershowers are the favorite song-times, when the winds have died away and the steaming ground and the leaves and flowers fill the air with fragrance. Then the male makes haste to the topmost spray of an oak tree and sings loud and clear with delightful enthusiasm until sundown, mostly I suppose for his mate sitting on the precious eggs in a brush heap. And how faithful and watchful and daring he is! Woe to the snake or squirrel that ventured to go nigh the nest! We often saw him diving on them, pecking them about the head and driving them away as bravely as the kingbird drives away hawks. Their rich and varied strains make the air fairly quiver. We boys often tried to interpret the wild ringing melody and put it into words.

Fragrant Quote for June 12th, 2012 from The Yosemite By John Muir

Fragrant Quote for June 12th, 2012 from The Yosemite By John Muir

Far the most delightful and fragrant of the Valley flowers is the Washington lily, white, moderate in size, with from three- to ten-flowered racemes. I found one specimen in the lower end of the Valley at the foot of the Wawona grade that was eight feet high, the raceme two feet long, with fifty-two flowers, fifteen of them open; the others had faded or were still in the bud. This famous lily is distributed over the sunny portions of the sugar-pine woods, never in large meadow-garden companies like the large and the small tiger lilies (pardalinum and parvum), but widely scattered, standing up to the waist in dense ceanothus and manzanita chaparral, waving its lovely flowers above the blooming wilderness of brush, and giving their fragrance to the breeze. It is now becoming scarce in the most accessible parts of its range on account of the high price paid for its bulbs by gardeners through whom it has been distributed far and wide over the flower-loving world. For, on account of its pure color and delicate, delightful fragrance, all lily lovers at once adopted it as a favorite.

Fragrant Quote for june 11th, 2012-The Writings of John Muir: Steep trails By John Muir

Fragrant Quote for june 11th, 2012-The Writings of John Muir: Steep trails By John Muir

Yet, strange to say, there are days even here somewhat dull-looking, when the mountain seems uncommunicative, sending out no appreciable invitation, as if not at home. At such times its height seems much less, as if, crouching and weary, it were taking rest. But Shasta is always at home to those who love her, and is ever in a thrill of enthusiastic activity — burning fires within, grinding glaciers without, and fountains ever flowing. Every crystal dances responsive to the touches of the sun, and currents of sap in the growing cells of all the vegetation are ever in a vital whirl and rush, and though many feet and wings are folded, how many are astir! And the wander
ing winds, how busy they are, and what a breadth of sound and motion they make, glinting and bubbling about the crags of the summit, sifting through the woods, feeling their way from grove to grove, ruffling the loose hair on the shoulders of the bears, fanning and rocking young birds in their cradles, making a trumpet of every corolla, and carrying their fragrance around the world.

In unsettled weather, when storms are growing, the mountain looms immensely higher, and its miles of height become apparent to all, especially in the gloom of the gathering clouds, or when the storm is done and they are rolling away, torn on the edges and melting while in the sunshine. Slight rain-storms are likely to be encountered in a trip round the mountain, but one may easily find shelter beneath wellthatched trees that shed the rain like a roof. Then the shining of the wet leaves is delightful, and the steamy fragrance, and the burst of bird-song from a multitude of thrushes and finches and warblers that have nests in the chaparral.

The nights, too, are delightful, watching with Shasta beneath the great starry dome. A thousand thousand voices are heard, but so finely blended they seem a part of the night itself, and make a deeper silence. And how grandly do the great logs and branches of your campfire give forth the heat and light that during their long century-lives they have so slowly gathered from the sun, storing it away in beautiful dotted cells and beads of amber gum! The neighboring trees look into the charmed circle as if the noon of another day had come, familiar flowers and grasses that chance to be near seem far more beautiful and impressive than by day, and as the dead trees give forth their light all the other riches of their lives seem to be set free and with the rejoicing flames rise again to the sky. In setting out from Strawberry Valley, by bearing off to the northwestward a few miles you may see

"... beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, The slight Linnsea hang its twin-born heads, And [bless] the monument of the man of flowers, Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers."

New Wholesae Prices on specific essential oils and co2 extracts

Dear Friends-
Kind greetings!
In 2011 and the first half of 2012 we were able to make some larger purchases for a number of essential oils and co2 extracts with the result we can offer them at substantially reduced prices. Flowing are the 1 ounce prices for each. You can see the prices for larger and smaller quantities on the web site:
http://www.whitelotusaromatics.com/shop

Essential oils

Birch, sweet/Betula alleghensis(USA) wild harvest-$10
Cinnamon bark(Cinnamom zeylanicum(Sri Lanka) organic-$25
Curry Leaf/Murraya koenigii(India) nonsprayed-$10
Elemi/Canarium luzonicum(Phillipines) wild harvest-$6
Eucalyptus calumuldensis/ Red River Gum/(Nepal) organic-$5
Geranium Bourbon/Pelargonium graveolens(Reunion Islands)-$15
Lawang/Cinamomon cullilawan(Indonesia) organic-$6
Opoponax/Commiphera guidotti(Ethiopia) wild harvest-$10
Sugandh kokila/Cinnamomum glaucescens(Nepal) organic-$6
Turmeric, Mango/Curcuma zedoaria(Nepal) organic-$5

CO2 extracts

Black Cumin CO2 total extract/Nigella sativa(Egypt) organic-$6
Hops CO2 select/Humulus lupus(Germany)conventional-$10
Nutmeg CO2 select/Myristica fragrans(Indonesia)-$10
Tumeric CO2 select/Curcurma longa(India) conventional-$5

Please remember that we have a $100 wholesale minimum and no paperwork like gc/ms, coa, msds accompanies the oils ie. only the essences are sent.

Fragrant Quote for June 10th, 2012 from A Garden of Herbs By Eleanour Sinclair Rohde

Jarrow Hall from Herb Garden Image credit


A Garden of Herbs
By Eleanour Sinclair Rohde

Artificial scents have had a long enough reign in England, and perhaps we shall be wise enough to return to the simple old home-made rose, lavender, jasmine and other sweet waters, the pomanders and scented wash-balls of our greatgreat-grandmothers. And is not a garden full of fragrant herbs a perpetual delight? Are t...here any bought scents so delicious and exhilarating as wild thyme, marjoram and rosemary? There is something so clean and wholesome in them that one feels the old herbalists were right when they said that to smell these herbs continually would keep any one in perfect health. They are so full of sunshine and sweetness that it seems there can be no tonic like them, and it is curious how appreciative invalids are of sweet-scented herbs. Flower scents are often too heavy for them, but a bunch of fragrant herbs seems a perpetual joy. In London, where one can buy all the costliest and most beautiful flowers in or out of season, does anything bring a breath of the country air so perfectly as a boxful of lavender? "There are few better places for the study of scents," says Mrs. Bardswell, " than the herb garden. Here fragrance depends more on the leaves of plants than on the flowers. One secret is soon discovered. It is the value of leaf-scents. Flower-scents are evanescent; leaf-odours are permanent. On the other hand, leaf-odours though ready when sought, do not force themselves upon us, as it were, like flower-scents, which we must smell whether we will or no. Leaf-scents have to be coaxed out by touching, bruising or pressing; but there they are. After all, that is the great point, and long after the summer flower-scents have departed we can enjoy the perfumes of the sweet leaved Herbs and plants such as Rosemary, Bay and Thyme. Even when withered in the depth of winter, how full of fragrance are the natural Herb gardens of the south of Europe, where one walks over stretches of dry Thyme and Lavender, every step crushing out their sweetness."

Fragrant Quote for June 9th, 2012 from Damascus- By John Aiton

Citadel of Damascus.

Damascus- By John Aiton

No journey was ever taken with so much interest as this; the mind is delighted to dwell upon it, and we are eager to imagine all its details, but everything would be guesswork, endless and bewildering. But this every traveller can attest: the singular beauty, fertility, and fragrance of these groves; the copiousness of the fountains and perennial streams, distributing thei...r channels into so many watercourses, and spread for miles in all directions over a wilderness of tangled shrubberies, orange and lemon trees, with their dark foliage, surrounded by the bending leaves of the banana, reposing in every hue of light and beauty, amid a boundless panorama of gardens and green lawns, with their low walls, and water-wheels, and most profuse variety of fruits and flowers. The white buildings of the city stand fair to the sun, and present to the eye of the pilgrim a gleaming contrast to the verdant, inexhaustible paradise of green shades and glittering cascades. The beautiful blossoms of the acacia impart fragrance to the air, and there is balm, in all the atmosphere around. But plenty of cool, clear water, sparkling everywhere, like diamonds of the desert, is the rare and richest treasure of Damascus. Oh, lovely Damascus! thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates with pleasant fruits; camphire with spikenard; spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices; a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon. Well, indeed, might Naaman extol the rivers of Damascus more than the waters of Israel. Even the Greeks, Strabo, Ptolemy, and Pliny, call these streams "rivers of gold." To the inhabitants of that burning clime they are richer than the gold of Ophir, and sweeter far than honey from the honeycomb. The thousand purling waters, ever on the move, give life to the luscious calm. In the silence of midnight, the song of the nightingale and the murmur of unseen rivulets are the only sounds, and they never cease. In the terrific hot glare of Doon the sight everywhere of the clear, clever-like, gushing water, is a perpetual refreshment. In the shining beams of the morning spread out on the mountains, these fountains and small ponds at every dwelling are reflected like so many mirrors. And at night, when the sun has set behind Lebanon, and the momentary twilight has sunk into darkness, the torch-lights and lanterns of Damascus are seen flashing on the waters in every direction.

Fragrant Quote for June 8th, 2012 from The Wind in the Willows By Kenneth Grahame

Wind in the Willows Image Credit


He had travelled some miles, his horse and he, and he was feeling drowsy in the hot sunshine, when the horse stopped, lowered his head, and began to nibble the grass; and Toad, waking up, just saved himself from falling off by an effort. He looked about him and found he was on a wide common, dotted with patches of gorse ...and bramble as far as he could see. Near him stood a dingy gipsy caravan, and beside it a man was sitting on a bucket turned upside down, very busy smoking and staring into the wide world. A fire of sticks was burning near by, and over the fire hung an iron pot, and out of that pot came forth bubblings and gurglings, and a vague suggestive steaminess. Also smells—warm, rich, and varied smells— that twined and twisted and wreathed themselves at last into one complete, voluptuous, perfect smell that seemed like the very soul of Nature taking form and appearing to her children, a true Goddess, a mother of solace and comfort. Toad now knew well that he had not been really hungry before. What he had felt earlier in the day had been a mere trifling qualm. This was the real thing at last, and no mistake; and it would have to be dealt with speedily, too, or there would be trouble for somebody or something. He looked the gipsy over carefully, wondering vaguely whether it would be easier to fight him or cajole him. So there he sat, and sniffed and sniffed, and looked at the gipsy; and the gipsy sat and smoked, and looked at him.

Presently the gipsy took his pipe out of his mouth and remarked in a careless way, 'Want to sell that there horse of yours?'

Fragrant Quote for June 7th, 2012 from The one I knew best of all: a memory of the mind of a child By Frances Hodgson Burnett

Viola odorata Image credit


The one I knew best of all: a memory of the mind of a child
By Frances Hodgson Burnett

Those were lovely days when she found these violets. They were almost the very first things that came in the spring. First there was a good deal of rain, and when one was getting very tired of it there would come a lull. Perhaps it was only a lull, and the sun only came out and went in with capricious uncertain...ty. But when the lull came the Small Person issued forth. Everything was wet and smelled deliciously—the mould, the grass, the ferns, the trees, and bushes. She was not afraid of the dampness. She was a strong little thing, and wore cotton frocks. Generally she had no hat. A hat seemed unnecessary and rather in the way. She simply roamed about as a little sheep or cow would have roamed about, going where an odor or a color led her. She went through the bushes and undergrowth, and as she made her way they shook rain-drops on her. As she had not known flowers before, and did not know people then, she did not learn the real names of the flowers she gathered. But she knew their faces and places and ways as she knew her family. The very first small flower of all was a delicate, bounteous thing, which grew in masses and looked like a pale forget-me-not on a fragile stem. She loved it because it was so ready and so free of itself, and it meant that soon the wet grass would be blue with the violets which she loved beyond all else of the spring or summer. She always lost her head a little when she saw the first of these small things, but when, after a few days more rain, the sun decided to shine with warm softness, and things were pushing up through the mould and bursting from the branches and trunks of trees, and bluebirds began to sing, and all at once the blue violets seemed to rush out of the earth and purple places everywhere, she became a little mad—with a madness which was divine. She forgot she was a Small Person with a body, and scrambled about the woods, forgetting everything else also. She knew nothing but the violets, the buds of things, the leaves, the damp, sweet, fresh smell. She knelt down recklessly on the wet grass; if the rain began to fall she was not driven indoors unless it fell in torrents. To make one's way through a wood on a hillside with hands full of cool, wet leaves and flowers, and to feel soft, light, fresh rain-drops on one's cheek is a joy—a joy!

Fragrant Quote for June 5th, 2012-Irish literature, Volume 8

Montmelon, Doubs, Jura in spring,Image credit


FAR-AWAY.

As chimes that flow o'er shining seas
... When Morn alights on meads of May,
Faint voices fill the western breeze
With whisp'ring songs from Far-Away.
Oh, dear the dells of Dunanore,
A home is odorous Ossory;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!

There grows the Tree whose summer breath
Perfumes with joy the azure air;
And he who feels it fears not Death,
Nor longer heeds the hounds of Care.
Oh, soft the skies of Seskinore,
And mild is meadowy Mellaray;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-A way!

There sings the Voice whose wondrous tune
Falls, like diamond-showers above
That in the radiant dawn of June
Renew a world of Youth and Love.
Oh, fair the founts of Farranfore,
And bright is billowy Ballintrae;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!

Come, Fragrance of the Flowering Tree,
Oh, sing, sweet Bird, thy magic lay,
Till all the world be young with me,
And Love shall lead us far away.
Oh, dear the dells of Dunanore,
A home is odorous Ossory;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!

Fragrant Quote for June 6nd, 2012 from Wind-harp songs By John William Lloyd

Regenschauer über Rostock Image Credit


Fragrant Quote for June 6nd, 2012 from Wind-harp songs By John William Lloyd


THE SMELL OF RAIN-WET EARTH.

... THE smell of rain-wet earth upon the air,
And rose leaves, wet and flashing:
The fragrance floats me back, all unaware,—
I see that love-white face divinely fair
Again—and drooping head with braided hair—
Half know the fountain plashing,
The smell of rain-wet earth upon the air,
And rose leaves wet and flashing.

Fragrant Quote for June 4th th, 2012 from The natural history of the farm By James George Needham

Herb Garden, Huntington Library Image Credit

Herbage-scents are not transient and effusive, like the odors of the flowers. They last through the life of the plant itself, and are often sweetest in the dried herb. They are faint and ethereal, like the delicate scent of sweetbrier leaves distilling into the motionless air of a summer evening after rain. Or the...y may not be noticeable at all unless the foliage producing them be rubbed or bruised.

It was for this reason that our grandmothers planted lavender and rosemary and balm close beside the garden paths, where their leaves would be brushed by the clothes of a person passing, liberating the fragrance. They prized these for the garden in summer, and such sweet things as lemon-verbena and rose-geraniums for the window-garden in winter. It is because herbs yield their fragrance most abundantly when crushed or bruised, that they were used of old as "strewing herbs." They were scattered in the path of a bridal or other procession, to raise a pleasing perfume when crushed by passing feet.

Fragrant Quote for June 3rd, 2012 from VESPERS from Madonna and other poems By Harrison Smith Morris

Strange evening light in Goms Image Credit


VESPERS from Madonna and other poems
By Harrison Smith Morris

Evening, if any sweetness of the air,
If any odor of the open buds,
... May be unlocked and loosened, it is thou
Who touch the wards and turn the key and let
The swimming fragrance steal between the leaves.

Thy veiled fingers feel along the east,
Beckoning the dusk to make a sleep on earth,
And coaxing down the clouds that keep the sun;
Thine eyes amid the shadow of thy locks
Look out and stream with pity for the tired.

Then to the west turning, with covered face
Thou fleest and with faint and far farewells
Biddest the sun adieu, and, calling up
Thy Ethiop minions, close the casements in
That look on level highways of the day.

And so, thy reign complete, amid the fields,
On verdure whitened with thy beads of dew,
Thou liest, and the boughs, stirred by the first
New wind of night, make music for thy sleep,
And stars hang timid in the deeps of air.

Fragrant Quote for June 2nd, 2012 from SOUL SWEETNESS

Flower of vitis vinifera Image credit

SOUL SWEETNESS

There is a bloom that oft unnoticed grows,
Well hidden neath the green of its retreat;
It naught of brightest, glowing color knows,
... Yet fragrance hath, mysteriously sweet,
Stealthy, pervasive, with a charm its own.
Of all the sweets of flowers that have shape,
In woodlands, meads, or well-kept gardens blown,
Hast smelled the subtle odor of the grape?

Such fragrance in so plain a blossom lies,
One breathing sweets from it doth wonder much,
As to him comes this knowledge with surprise,
How fragrance rare should hide in blossom such.
The sweetness of the soul may far exceed
The poor, frail body's beauty that shall fly,
Pervading hide the body's every need,
As flitting months and years of life go by.

The garden of Gray Ledge: and other poems
By Charlotte Williams Hazlewood

Fragrance Quote for June 1st, 2012-Felix Holt, the radical By George Eliot

Cornish hedgerow Image Credit


Fragrance Quote for June 1st, 2012-Felix Holt, the radical
By George Eliot
But everywhere the bushy hedgerows wasted the land with their straggling beauty, shrouded the grassy borders of the pastures with catkined hazels, and tossed their long blackberry branches on the cornfields. Perhaps they were white with May, or starred with pale pink dog-roses; perhaps the urchins were already nutting amon...gst them, or gathering the plenteous crabs. It was worth the journey only to see those hedgerows, the liberal homes of unmarketable beauty — of the purple-blossomed ruby-berried nightshade, of the wild convolvulus climbing and spreading in tendrilled strength till it made a great curtain of pale-green hearts and white trumpets, of the many-tubed honeysuckle which, in its most delicate fragrance, hid a charm more subtle and penetrating than beauty. Even if it were winter the hedgerows showed their coral, the scarlet haws, the deep-crimson hips, with lingering brown leaves to make a resting-place for the jewels of the hoar-frost. Such hedgerows were often as tall as the laborers' cottages dotted along the lanes, or clustered into a small hamlet, their little dingy windows telling, like thick-filmed eyes, of nothing but the darkness within.

Fragrance Quote for May 30th, 2012- Old time gardens: newly set forth By Alice Morse Earle

Calycanthus floridus - sweet shrub
Fragrance Quote for May 30th, 2012-



Old time gardens: newly set forth
By Alice Morse Earle

I have often tried to define to myself the scent of the Calycanthus blooms; they have an aromatic fragrance somewhat like the ripest Pineapples of the tropics, but still richer; how I love to carry them in my hand, crushed and warm, occasionally holding them tight over my mouth and nose to fill myself with... their perfume. The leaves have a similar, but somewhat varied and sharper, scent, and the woody stems another; the latter I like to nibble. This flower has an element of mystery in it — that indescribable quality felt by children, and remembered by prosaic grown folk. Perhaps its curious dark reddish brown tint may have added part of the queerness, since the " Mourning Bride," similar in color, has a like mysterious association. 1 cannot explain these qualities to any one not a garden-bred child; and as given in the chapter entitled The Mystery of Flowers, they will appear to many, fanciful and unreal — but I have a fraternity who will understand, and who will know that it was this same undefinable quality that made a branch of Strawberry bush, or a handful of its stemless blooms, a gift significant of interest and intimacy; we would not willingly give Calycanthus blossoms to a child we did not like, or to a stranger.

Fragrant Quote for May 31st, 2012-A Garden of Herbs By Eleanour Sinclair Rohde

Samarès Manor, Saint Clement, Jersey, May 2011


Fragrant Quote for May 31st, 2012-A Garden of Herbs
By Eleanour Sinclair Rohde

Artificial scents have had a long enough reign in England, and perhaps we shall be wise enough to return to the simple old home-made rose, lavender, jasmine and other sweet waters, the pomanders and scented wash-balls of our greatgreat-grandmothers. And is not a garden full of fragrant herbs a perpetual delight? Are t...here any bought scents so delicious and exhilarating as wild thyme, marjoram and rosemary? There is something so clean and wholesome in them that one feels the old herbalists were right when they said that to smell these herbs continually would keep any one in perfect health. They are so full of sunshine and sweetness that it seems there can be no tonic like them, and it is curious how appreciative invalids are of sweet-scented herbs. Flower scents are often too heavy for them, but a bunch of fragrant herbs seems a perpetual joy. In London, where one can buy all the costliest and most beautiful flowers in or out of season, does anything bring a breath of the country air so perfectly as a boxful of lavender? "There are few better places for the study of scents," says Mrs. Bardswell, " than the herb garden. Here fragrance depends more on the leaves of plants than on the flowers. One secret is soon discovered. It is the value of leaf-scents. Flower-scents are evanescent; leaf-odours are permanent. On the other hand, leaf-odours though ready when sought, do not force themselves upon us, as it were, like flower-scents, which we must smell whether we will or no. Leaf-scents have to be coaxed out by touching, bruising or pressing; but there they are. After all, that is the great point, and long after the summer flower-scents have departed we can enjoy the perfumes of the sweet leaved Herbs and plants such as Rosemary, Bay and Thyme. Even when withered in the depth of winter, how full of fragrance are the natural Herb gardens of the south of Europe, where one walks over stretches of dry Thyme and Lavender, every step crushing out their sweetness."

Fragrance Quote for May 29th, 2012-Nature studies in Berkshire By John Coleman Adams

In the Berkshires


Fragrance Quote for May 29th, 2012-Nature studies in Berkshire
By John Coleman Adams

But the sun moves around and drives one from the shady covert and puts an end to these dreams by daylight. Yet others follow hard after. Even as one lies here with cheek close to the earth, there steals upon the sense a fragrance, pungent, aromatic, subtle as some rare perfume, and elusive as the flight of the f...irefly. It calls to memory the interior of some country homestead, and conjures up the cupboard where the "simples" are kept, and clean cool chambers with beds whose linen gives out this same sweet exhalation. One has not far to look for the fragrant everlasting whose woolly blossoms yield this pleasant breath, dear to every country boy and girl, but dearer still to him who hides a bunch of it in the desk drawer at the city office, a swift reminder in the busy hours of the far-off hillside under the summer sun. Gather a handful of this grateful yield of the hill pasture, and stroll a few rods farther, for in yonder copse is reserved a pleasant surprise.

Pass the chevaux-de-frise of the birches, and work your way down the steep bank for a few rods, and you shall find yourself in the midst of a growth which florists would give much to discover, and which no lover of the woods would ever disclose. It is a splendid patch of maiden-hair ferns, covering many a square rod of the thicket, multiplying and luxuriating in the leaf-enriched soil. Hidden away from the eyes of the careless and the vandal, growing and fruiting and growing again for many a year, these delicate and graceful fronds have possessed themselves of this spot. It is their homestead. Inherited from generation to generation, the copse is the ancestral home of this delightful family, where they still rear their bright stems and spread their dainty pinules unharmed of men. What keener pleasure awaits the wood stroller than such a corner as this, redolent of the life of the finest flower of the shadows, fragrant with the gathered tradition of this family of ferns, whose very presence here attests how rare have been human visits, how largely this place is secured to the dryads and their mysteries? Is it not worth a walk over the hill-pasture to stumble upon such a woody corner as this?

Fragrance quote for May28th-On the manuscripts of God By Ellen Burns Sherman

Oil painting "Skovinteriör" by Adolph Tidemand


Fragrance quote for May28th-On the manuscripts of God
By Ellen Burns Sherman
Who, again, for any mercenary values would surrender his memories of forests, where hemlock, spruce, pine, balsam, and woodland blossoms mingle their incense to the early morn? Related in its wholesome purity to the fragrance of the morning and the forest is the fresh odorless odor which one brings in on one's clothes an...d person after a long walk on a cold winter day. What white is to the colors, this fragrant freshness is to the more positive perfumes. Windows that have just been washed and linen dried in the wind and sun also acquire this wholesome redolence, a redolence which one might reasonably fancy is psychically duplicated by the aura of a clean soul.

Perhaps the next chromatic variation from the pure, white fragrance of cleanliness is the salt odor exhaled by the sea; for nature has the same delicately graded scale for her perfumes that she uses for the tints of blossoms and the plumage of birds. Between the pianissimo fragrance of spring beauties and the heavy perfume of lilacs and hyacinths, she knows how to distil, from less to more, a thousand delicate variations, each producing a different psychical reaction. To the intimate spiritual recesses which are opened by mignonette, the locust has no key; neither has the spicy nasturtium or poppy any sesame for the holy of holies whose high priestess is the vestal lily of the valley. From odors like those of pine, hemlock, balsam, larch, and spruce, whose dominant effect is tonic wholesomeness, nature passes by imperceptible gradations to perfumes that are heavy, nauseating, obnoxious, and mephitic.

Fragrant Quote for May 26th, 2012-Atlantic monthly, Volume 60

Errwood Reservoir


Fragrant Quote for May 26th, 2012-Atlantic monthly, Volume 60

The pleasant chill in the air still binds all less ethereal odors in their winter prison-house. But late in April or early in May, when the hidden bonds have all been loosened, and even the fast-running brook calls out the fresh scent of the mossy stones in its channel, then, if you stand in an open meadow, and give yourself up freely to the full delight of the wakening earth, yon will become aware that it is neither delicate blossom nor singing bird which adds the last enchantment to the moment, but the wonderful blending of every shy and vague scent in the world. You cannot rudely extricate one or another from the harmony.

Fragrant Quote for May 27th, 2012 THE FLOWER-LIPPED JUNE by By Eliza A. (Wetherley) Otis

Sunlight on the Stream



THE FLOWER-LIPPED JUNE by By Eliza A. (Wetherley) Otis

The air is sweet, and all the breezes stir
... With perfumed laughter, then rippling run to
Meet the glorious sunshine as it so
Softly falls on leaf and tree and gently-
Opening flower and running stream. How gleam
Its golden arrows in the brook, and how
Lean the swaying grasses down to touch the
Flowing crystal! There a little robin

Comes, its breast aglow with red, and dips its
Beak, then lifts it, while a diamond drop
Still clings to it, as if to lend a sparkle
To its song. Reclining, the beautiful
Hills sweep with a veil of mist upon their
Foreheads, while the blue eye of June looks love
To them, and through her royal lips the light
And odorous breezes breathe Love's softest
Whispers, and the stars shine forth in twinkling
Ecstacy. Ah! flower-lipped June, with
Fragrant lilies on thy snowy lids, and
The warm rose flushes on thy dimpled cheeks;
Thou art for lovers, and thy breath is love
And perfumed benediction.

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