"We'll tell the hive, you died afloat."

Better late than never, I say--and I say it a lot. I'm finally getting around to posting thoughts on the rest of the Mystery of Musk entries. I suspect y'all have already decided which of these babies is suitable for a test drive, but if I only shared my opinions when they were useful I'd never get to bloviate at all. And so, on to today's musky creations, Dionysus from Lord's Jester and Drifting Sparks from Artemisia.

Dionysus could not be more aptly named. Booze and barnyard in a bottle, that pretty much sums it up. I confess my first reaction was Uh, No--but after Dionysus and I got to know each other I decided I like him. Can't take him out anywhere, you understand. He's a little too real for polite company. Lovable all the same, though.

Drifting Sparks is just plain pretty. Honeyed orange blossom and touches of rose over a slightly smoky skin scent. Of all the perfumes in the MoM series, this is the one I know would make it into regular rotation if it were part of my collection. Wearable anywhere, and lasts like crazy.

The innocent sweetness of Drifting Sparks and the drunken funk of Dionysus might seem worlds apart, but Philip Freneau married them, so to speak, in "To a Honey Bee":


Thou, born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come, on vagrant wing?
Does Bacchus tempting seem,—
Did he for you this glass prepare?
Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay,—
Did wars distress, or labors vex,
Or did you miss your way?
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.

Welcome!—I hail you to my glass:
All welcome here you find;
Here let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here be all care resigned.
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the griefs of men or bees.

What forced you here we cannot know,
And you will scarcely tell,
But cheery we would have you go
And bid a glad farewell:
On lighter wings we bid you fly,—
Your dart will now all foes defy.

Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink,
And in this ocean die;
Here bigger bees than you might sink,
Even bees full six feet high.
Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said
To perish in a sea of red.

Do as you please, your will is mine;
Enjoy it without fear,
And your grave will be this glass of wine,
Your epitaph—a tear;
Go, take your seat in Charon’s boat;
We ’ll tell the hive, you died afloat.


Bacchus and Ariadne, Titian, 1522-23