My heart, through diffidence, forever calls
Upon my mind to shield it from disdain:
I start to cull a star, and then I halt,
For fear of ridicule, to pick a floret.
ROXANE.
A floret has its charms.
CYRANO.
Disdain them now!
ROXANE.
You never spoke to me as now you speak!
CYRANO.
Oh! let us set aside the pygmy things,
The superannuated niceties
Of love as it is understood to-day!
Why sip by drops the waters of a spring,
When from a river we can freely quaff?
ROXANE.