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Act I, Scene IV


Mellisonant euphony, her voice,
dulcet, dreamy, one in ten thousand...
her silences, a starvation of choice
unimaginable...he wonders the 'hows and
wherefores' its lack painfully employs...

Must a poet speak sweet words to wring
her heart of its tears, unto a crowd,
when she could hear his verses sing
the lyric meant only for her, aloud,
accompaniment performed by a king?

Mystery and shadows, clandestine joys,
dreams of the future's abortive advances,
coquettish sophistries...each which employs
its own personae, when 'in person' best enhances
a free flow of passion that his hope buoys.



--Cyrano





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