Cyrano.

HER touch, her kiss, her glance - what slaves me more?
Those three define my world: with touch I know
The wind alive and merciful; her kiss,
The passion of the earth; her glance, the call
To penetrate the wood most dangerous.
She is a moon who dominates my night,
A pearl whose weight I cannot bear, yet must.
What pleasure to be crushed by the sublime!

Yet why be crushed at all? Oblivion
Is no great boon for winning love. The thing
Known, enjoyed, is the thing approached, unlaced,
Embraced and protected by one's weapon.
Why be at all if not to be the one
To carry off the moon and seize the sun?

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