I show no bravery of shining gems.
Truth, Independence, are my fluttering plumes.
'Tis not my form I lace to make me slim,
But brace my soul with efforts as with stays,
Covered with exploits, not with ribbon-knots,
My spirit bristling high like your mustaches,
I, traversing the crowds and chattering groups
Make Truth ring bravely out like clash of spurs!
-Edmund Rosamund, Cyrano de Bergerac, Act I, scene iv
I read Cyrano de Bergerac during the second semester of my sophomore year at high school. I remember being enthralled with the play--I couldn't get enough of the language. The title character's wit and ease with which he used words spoke to my young fancy and germinated an early desire to be... eloquent. That was the word I remember coming up with. Cyrano was eloquent. I would be eloquent too.
I may have told a few people about that desire shortly after it was espoused, but mostly I kept it to myself.
On Sunday this week, after speaking in sacrament meeting on friendship, fellowship, and regional activities, I was approached after services. A friend pulled me aside and told me plainly that she thought I was eloquent in my talk. Eloquent! It was the first time anyone had used that word to compliment me. Perhaps I am on my way.