Perfume Poem


“The road weaves upward accompanied by a drum and a flute,

Round and round the bends, where the scent is more and more honeyed.

Plaited beehives, their straw shines like brass,

Sunflowers in rows, thyme.

And there, four turrets: facing East, West, North and South.

Where you enter the gate it’s as if they were waiting for you.

Complete silence in a rose garden,

Around it, an expanse of green hills,

Of blue-green, up to the very clouds.”


from ‘The Accuser’ by Czeslaw Milosz


It’s almost like a formula for a perfume, this magical bit of poetry.  I’d love to smell it.



Your thoughts...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: