I may grow tender, walking alone in the blue cool of evening, through some garden fresh with flowers after the benediction of the rain; My poor big devil of a nose inhales April and so I follow with my eyes where some boy, with a girl upon his arm, passes a patch of silver. And…I wish I had a woman too, walking with little stops under the moon, and holding my arm so, and smiling. Then I dream – and I forget? And then I see the shadow of my profile on the wall!
— Edmund Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac
I may grow tender, walking alone in the
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Mar