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Act III, Scene ix | 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! |
| ROXANE: | | What then? |
| CYRANO (speaking more warmly): | | Buckingham suffered dumbly,—so have I,— | | Adored his Queen, as loyally as I,— | | Was sad, but faithful,—so am I. . . |
| ROXANE: | | And you | | Are fair as Buckingham! |
| CYRANO (aside—suddenly cooled): | | True,—I forgot! |
| ROXANE: | | Must I then bid thee mount to cull this flower? |
| CYRANO (pushing Christian toward the balcony): | | Mount! |
| ROXANE: | | This heart-breathing!. . . |
| CYRANO: | | Mount! |
| ROXANE: | | This brush of bee's wing!. . . |
| CYRANO: | | Mount! |
| CHRISTIAN (hesitating): | | But I feel now, as though 'twere ill done! |
| ROXANE: | | This moment infinite!. . . |
| CYRANO (still pushing him): | | Come, blockhead, mount! |
| (Christian springs forward, and by means of the bench, the branches, and the | | pillars, climbs to the balcony and strides over it.) |
| CHRISTIAN: | | Ah, Roxane! |
| (He takes her in his arms, and bends over her lips.) |
| CYRANO: | | Aie! Strange pain that wrings my heart! | | The kiss, love's feast, so near! I, Lazarus, | | Lie at the gate in darkness. Yet to me | | Falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board— | | Ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, Roxane—mine! | | For on the lips you press you kiss as well | | The words I spoke just now!—my words—my words! | | (The lutes play): | | A sad air,—a gay air: the monk! | | (He begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out): | | Hola! |
| ROXANE: | | Who is it? |
| CYRANO: | | I—I was but passing by. . . | | Is Christian there? |
| CHRISTIAN (astonished): | | Cyrano! |
| ROXANE: | | Good-day, cousin! |
| CYRANO: | | Cousin, good-day! |
| ROXANE: | | I'm coming! |
| (She disappears into the house. At the back re-enter the friar.) |
| CHRISTIAN (seeing him): | | Back again! |
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