Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age released from care,
Journeying, in long serenity, away.
In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
Might wear out life like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks
And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.
Dry, cold autumn wind. A rustle of red leaves, a touch of smoke and sap in the air.
This is the scent I've looked forward to - some of my favorite autumn smells, all rolled into a single perfume.
In the bottle, this was sharp and masculine. Ooo, very sharp.
Wet, it transformed immediately to the scent of mouldering leaves, with an overtone of men's cologne.
Dry, the throw is all wet, decaying leaves (which I find quite pleasant), but unfortunately, when I bring my wrist to my nose, all I smell is cheap men's cologne and a whiff of musk.
On the whole, I think my skin chemistry has played me false once more.

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