Absinthe makes the tart grow fonder (or something)

The poet, baffled and morose, gazes indiscreetly at the green breasts of "Olivia" -- the personification of his addiction to Absinthe.

Curious how absinthine men were plagued by succubi, whereas their female counterparts were just addicts (viz Degas's drinker below).






Still I wonder about the Fée Verte -- the plant is named, after all, for my goddess, Artemis (Artemisia absinthium).

But it also carries the Edward Gorey-esque name "wormwood".

How bad, therefore, could the drink be?