Cyrano.
For its mad beating ! - Ay
My heart has clothed itself with witty words,
To shroud itself from curious eyes : - impelled
At times to aim at a star, I stay my hand,
And, fearing ridicule, cull a wildflower !
Roxane.
A wildflower's sweet.
Cyrano.
Ay ! but to-night - the star !
Roxane.
Oh ! never have you spoken thus before !
Cyrano.
If, leaving Cupid's arrows, quivers, torches,
We turned to seek for sweeter -fresher things !
Instead of sipping in a pigmy glass
Dull fashionable waters, - did we try
How the soul slakes its thirst in fearless draught
By drinking from the river's flooding brim !
Roxane.
But wit ? ...
Cyrano.
If I have used it to arrest you
At the first starting, - now, 'twould be an outrage,
An insult - to the perfumed Night - to Nature -
To speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters!
Look up but at her stars ! The quiet Heaven
Will ease our hearts of all things artificial ;
I fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in
The truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,
