It’s that time of the week again, and lo and behold, what do I hear with my own little ears, but a sphinxlike perfume bottle, galloping up to riddle you this and that. Who will be the great hero today, craking the code and naming the bottle who sings to you its siren song?
A raging volcano covered with snow,
a goddess in white pearls, row after row.
A bright smile, a tender glance,
a gauzy dress, a twirling dance
across a brightly lit studio floor.
This lady danced once—she will dance no more.
A bright crown and a Barbizon cool,
a castle and husband who made ladies drool,
A hint of iris, a bit of leather
and plenty of roses to remind you I’m clever
like my idol—I never whip you too hard,
but ever play my graceful winning card
close to my magnificent chest.
I share part of my name with one of the best
bottles in the stable; you could say the same
of the second half of my nostalgic name.
Who am I?
La Granja de san ildefonso, Sphynx, Spain, taken by Håkan Svensson (Xauxa).