CYRANO:
’Tis true! The moment of intoxication—
Of madness,—when your mouths are sure to meet
Thanks to your fair mustache—and her rose lips!
(To himself):
I’d fainer it should come thanks to. . .
(A sound of shutters reopening. Christian goes in again under the balcony.)
[Scene 3.IX.]
Cyrano, Christian, Roxane.
ROXANE (coming out on the balcony):
Still there?
We spoke of a. . .
CYRANO:
A kiss! The word is sweet.
I see not why your lip should shrink from it;
If the word burns it,—what would the kiss do?
Oh! let it not your bashfulness affright;
Have you not, all this time, insensibly,
Left badinage aside, and unalarmed
Glided from smile to sigh,—from sigh to weeping?
Glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward—
From tear to kiss,—a moment’s thrill!—a heartbeat!
ROXANE:
Hush! hush!
CYRANO:
A kiss, when all is said,—what is it?
An oath that’s ratified,—a sealed promise,
A heart’s avowal claiming confirmation,—
A rose-dot on the ‘i’ of ‘adoration,’—
A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,—
Brush of a bee’s wing, that makes time eternal,—
Communion perfumed like the spring’s wild flowers,—
The heart’s relieving in the heart’s outbreathing,
When to the lips the soul’s flood rises, brimming!
ROXANE:
Hush! hush!
CYRANO:
A kiss, Madame, is honorable:
The Queen of France, to a most favored lord
Did grant a kiss—the Queen herself!