More One-act Plays by Modern AuthorsHelen Louise Cohen Harcourt, Brace, 1927 - 367 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
A. A. Milne ABEL ain't ALASDAIR ALBRET Anna Christie Austin Strong BARTLETT BISHARA Brown CAPTAIN Carolina CARVED WOMAN Change-House Charles Lamb CHEVILLON Christopher Morley comes Croggan Cross CUMBA curtain dear door drama drum DYER ELLISTON Erskine Eugene O'Neill eyes face father fire FLORA FRÈRE GRÉGOIRE Frost GAZNIA girl goes gone hand Harold Brighouse heard HENRIETTE HENRY BERRY HIGGINS Houghton Indian JANE John Lady LANDLORD lass laughs Lloyd Osbourne look LOUIS Lowries Majesty Mary MAYNO Milne MISS HATTIE MISS MELLON mumps never night O'Neill's one-act play Osbourne Paul Green pearls PEGGY PÈRE MARLOTTE playwright POLLY produced Provincetown Players RICKMAN Robert Frost Samuel French scene SEONAID Seoras Singing sits SLATER stands Stanley Houghton STRANGER talk tell Theatre There's thing TOMPKINS tonight turns voice WASH What's window writing York ZANAB
Pasajes populares
Página 266 - Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus...
Página 12 - ... literary turn, who had been with difficulty persuaded to take a hand, and who, in his excess of candour, declared that he thought there was no harm in unbending the mind now and then, after serious studies, in recreations of that kind ! She could not bear to have her noble occupation, to which she wound up her faculties, considered in that light. It was her business, her duty, the thing she came into the world to do, — and she did it. She unbent her mind afterwards over a book.
Página 267 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age, Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But O, sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Página 13 - I never shall forget ye, how ye lay about that night, like an intrenchment; gone to bed, as it seemed, for the night, but promising that ye were to be seen in the morning.
Página 11 - A CLEAR fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game." This was the celebrated wish of old Sarah Battle ( now with God ) who, next to her devotions, loved a good game at whist. She was none of your lukewarm gamesters, your...
Página 328 - The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Página 25 - I confess for myself that (with no great delinquencies to answer for) I am glad for a season to take an airing beyond the diocese of the strict conscience, — not to live always in the precincts of the law-courts, — but now and then, for a dream-while or so, to imagine a world with no meddling restrictions— to get into recesses, whither the hunter cannot follow me — — . Secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Página 11 - ... near ten o'clock of the Saturday night, when you set off from Islington, fearing you should be too late — and when the old bookseller with some grumbling opened his shop, and by the twinkling taper (for he was setting bedwards) lighted...
Página 8 - Mercy on us, that God should give his favourite children, men, mouths to speak with, to discourse rationally, to promise smoothly, to flatter agreeably, to encourage warmly, to counsel wisely, to sing with, to drink with, and to kiss with, and that they should turn them into mouths of adders, bears, wolves, hyenas, and whistle like tempests, and emit breath through them like distillations of aspic poison, to asperse and vilify the innocent labours of their fellow-creatures who are desirous to please...
Página 67 - So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away.