 Bind me, ye woodbines, in your 'twines. Curl me about, ye gadding vines; And oh so close your circles lace. That I may never leave this place; But, lest your fetters prove too weak, Ere I your silken bondage break, Do you, O brambles, chain me too. And,...  The prose works of Charles Lamb - Pàgina 5per Charles Lamb - 1836Visualització completa - Sobre aquest llibre
 | Michael Long - 1984 - 296 pàgines
[ El contingut d’aquesta pàgina està restringit ] | |
 | William Empson - 1984 - 280 pàgines
[ El contingut d’aquesta pàgina està restringit ] | |
 | Andrew Marvell - 1984 - 324 pàgines
[ El contingut d’aquesta pàgina està restringit ] | |
 | Gerald Monsman - 1984 - 182 pàgines
...previously cited in "Old Benchers," calling upon the woodbine and brambles to "Curl me about . . . And oh so close your circles lace, /That I may never leave this place" (Works, 2: 155). The circular form of the essay itself curls back upon the pivotal word "circles" in... | |
 | Harold E. Toliver - 1985 - 272 pàgines
[ El contingut d’aquesta pàgina està restringit ] | |
 | Robert Wilcher - 1985 - 212 pàgines
...forever from the dangers of sexual and military warfare beyond the protective screen of the trees: 'And, oh, so close your circles lace, / That I may never leave this place' (stanza 77). As the flood recedes, to reveal a landscape cleansed and restored to pristine innocence,... | |
 | Margarita Stocker - 1986 - 408 pàgines
[ El contingut d’aquesta pàgina està restringit ] | |
 | Andrew Marvell - 1986 - 292 pàgines
[ El contingut d’aquesta pàgina està restringit ] | |
 | Margarita Stocker - 1922 - 162 pàgines
...iron gates of life : Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run ; in : Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines, Curl me about, ye gadding vines, like a bound of the heart, and in the intoxicated surrender of personal identity in the famous Garden... | |
 | Andrew Marvell - 1986 - 308 pàgines
...shot Can make, or me it toucheth not. But I on it securely play, And gall its horsemen all the day. 77 Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines, Curl me about ye gadding vines, 610 And O so close your circles lace, That I may never leave this place: But, lest your fetters prove... | |
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