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Act I, Scene III


Unaware of him or that he'd seen her,
nothing had changed in her demeanor
to raise his hopes a suit ensue
between these two in fate's purview.
Black, catatonic stupor beset
his mien, bewildered, filled with regret
that she, providing life its flair,
(as if upon some castle tower
sequestered, its cloistered bower
across a world too far to see),
was lost, and his could never be.
To whom dare he divulge his soul,
its torment speak, lest dread control,
destroy the dream and he despair?



--Cyrano




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