ROXANE:
Why—unseen?
CYRANO:
Ay, it is sweet! Half hidden,—half revealed—
You see the dark folds of my shrouding cloak,
And I, the glimmering whiteness of your dress:
I but a shadow—you a radiance fair!
Know you what such a moment holds for me?
If ever I were eloquent. . .
ROXANE:
You were!
CYRANO:
Yet never till to-night my speech has sprung
Straight from my heart as now it springs.
ROXANE:
Why not?
CYRANO:
Till now I spoke haphazard. . .
ROXANE:
What?
CYRANO:
Your eyes
Have beams that turn men dizzy!—But to-night
Methinks I shall find speech for the first time!
ROXANE:
’Tis true, your voice rings with a tone that’s new.
CYRANO (coming nearer, passionately):
Ay, a new tone! In the tender, sheltering dusk
I dare to be myself for once,—at last!
(He stops, falters):
What say I? I know not!—Oh, pardon me—
It thrills me,—’tis so sweet, so novel. . .