Woven Round Coffee Table : Dining Table Pad Protector : Oak Coffee Table Uk

Woven Round Coffee Table

woven round coffee table
    coffee table
  • A low table, typically placed in front of a sofa
  • low table where magazines can be placed and coffee or cocktails are served
  • A coffee table, also called a cocktail table, is a style of long, low table which is designed to be placed in front of a sofa, to support beverages (hence the name), magazines, feet, books (especially coffee table books), and other small items to be used while sitting, such as coasters.
  • (Coffee Tables) While any small and low table can be, and is, called a coffee table, the term is applied particularly to the sets of three or four tables made from about 1790; of which the latter were called 'quartetto tables'.
  • made or constructed by interlacing threads or strips of material or other elements into a whole; "woven fabrics"; "woven baskets"; "the incidents woven into the story"; "folk songs woven into a symphony"
  • (weave) pattern of weaving or structure of a fabric
  • (of fabric) Formed by interlacing long threads passing in one direction with others at a right angle to them
  • (of a complex story or pattern) Made in a specified way from a number of interconnected elements
  • (weave) interlace by or as if by weaving
  • (of basketwork or a wreath) Made by interlacing items such as cane, stems, flowers, or leaves
  • a charge of ammunition for a single shot
  • Alter (a number) to one less exact but more convenient for calculations
  • from beginning to end; throughout; "It rains all year round on Skye"; "frigid weather the year around"
  • Give a round shape to
  • Pass and go around (something) so as to move on in a changed direction
  • wind around; move along a circular course; "round the bend"
woven round coffee table - Windham Castings
Windham Castings WO97XX41 Round Woven Top Coffee Table with Straight Base
Windham Castings WO97XX41 Round Woven Top Coffee Table with Straight Base
Windham Castings WO97XX41 Casual furniture should possess an artistry and functionality that brings people together for a truly enjoyable experience. Windham Castings has perfected that artistry with this Woven Top Coffee Table with a Straight Base versatile enough to combine with any of Windham Castings' elegant and unique seating options. Features: -All finishes are powder coated. -Hand applied antique finishes give character and individuality to each piece. -Made in America. -Each item is welded and ships fully assembled. -20" Round: 11 lbs. -32" Round: 30 lbs. -40" Round: 40 lbs.

83% (19)
Bella Venezia
Bella Venezia
A Dream of Venice NUMB, half asleep, and dazed with whirl of wheels, And gasp of steam, and measured clank of chains, I heard a blithe voice break a sudden pause, Ringing familiarly through the lamp-lit night, “Wife, here's your Venice!” I was lifted down, And gazed about in stupid wonderment, Holding my little Katie by the hand— My yellow-haired step-daughter. And again Two strong arms led me to the water-brink, And laid me on soft cushions in a boat,— A queer boat, by a queerer boatman manned— Swarthy-faced, ragged, with a scarlet cap— Whose wild, weird note smote shrilly through the dark. Oh yes, it was my Venice! Beautiful, With melancholy, ghostly beauty—old, And sorrowful, and weary—yet so fair, So like a queen still, with her royal robes, Full of harmonious colour, rent and worn! I only saw her shadow in the stream, By flickering lamplight,—only saw, as yet, White, misty palace-portals here and there, Pillars, and marble steps, and balconies, Along the broad line of the Grand Canal; And, in the smaller water-ways, a patch Of wall, or dim bridge arching overhead. But I could feel the rest. 'Twas Venice!—ay, The veritable Venice of my dreams. I saw the grey dawn shimmer down the stream, And all the city rise, new bathed in light, With rose-red blooms on her decaying walls, And gold tints quivering up her domes and spires— Sharp-drawn, with delicate pencillings, on a sky Blue as forget-me-nots in June. I saw The broad day staring in her palace-fronts, Pointing to yawning gap and crumbling boss, And colonnades, time-stained and broken, flecked With soft, sad, dying colours—sculpture-wreathed, And gloriously proportioned; saw the glow Light up her bright, harmonious, fountain'd squares, And spread out on her marble steps, and pass Down silent courts and secret passages, Gathering up motley treasures on its way;— Groups of rich fruit from the Rialto mart, Scarlet and brown and purple, with green leaves— Fragments of exquisite carving, lichen-grown, Found, 'mid pathetic squalor, in some niche Where wild, half-naked urchins lived and played— A bright robe, crowned with a pale, dark-eyed face— A red-striped awning 'gainst an old grey wall— A delicate opal gleam upon the tide. I looked out from my window, and I saw Venice, my Venice, naked in the sun— Sad, faded, and unutterably forlorn!— But still unutterably beautiful. For days and days I wandered up and down— Holding my breath in awe and ecstasy,— Following my husband to familiar haunts, Making acquaintance with his well-loved friends, Whose faces I had only seen in dreams And books and photographs and his careless talk. For days and days—with sunny hours of rest And musing chat, in that cool room of ours, Paved with white marble, on the Grand Canal; For days and days—with happy nights between, Half-spent, while little Katie lay asleep Out on the balcony, with the moon and stars. O Venice, Venice!—with thy water-streets— Thy gardens bathed in sunset, flushing red Behind San Giorgio Maggiore's dome— Thy glimmering lines of haughty palaces Shadowing fair arch and column in the stream— Thy most divine cathedral, and its square, With vagabonds and loungers daily thronged, Taking their ice, their coffee, and their ease— Thy sunny campo's, with their clamorous din, Their shrieking vendors of fresh fish and fruit— Thy churches and thy pictures—thy sweet bits Of colour—thy grand relics of the dead— Thy gondoliers and water-bearers—girls With dark, soft eyes, and creamy faces, crowned With braided locks as bright and black as jet— Wild ragamuffins, picturesque in rags, And swarming beggars and old witch-like crones, And brown-cloaked contadini, hot and tired, Sleeping, face-downward, on the sunny steps— Thy fairy islands floating in the sun— Thy poppy-sprinkled, grave-strewn Lido shore— Thy poetry and thy pathos—all so strange!— Thou didst bring many a lump into my throat, And many a passionate thrill into my heart, And once a tangled dream into my head. 'Twixt afternoon and evening. I was tired; The air was hot and golden—not a breath Of wind until the sunset—hot and still. Our floor was water-sprinkled; our thick walls And open doors and windows, shadowed deep With jalousies and awnings, made a cool And grateful shadow for my little couch. A subtle perfume stole about the room From a small table, piled with purple grapes, And water-melon slices, pink and wet, And ripe, sweet figs, and golden apricots, New-laid on green leaves from our garden—leaves Wherewith an antique torso had been clothed. My husband read his novel on the floor, Propped up on cushions and an Indian shawl; And little Katie slumbered at his feet, Her yellow curls alight, and delicate tints Of colour in the white folds of her frock. I lay, and mused, in comfort and at ease, Watching them both and playing with my thoughts; And then I fell into a long, deep sleep, And dreamed. I saw a water-wilderness— Islands entangled in a net of streams— Cross-threads of rippling channels, woven throug
another sky shot
another sky shot
Whenever I'm out wanderin' chasin a rainbow dream I often stop and think about a place I've never seen Where friendly folks can gather and raise the rafters high with songs and tales of yesteryear until they say goodbye Well...there's a puppy in the parlor and a skillet on the stove and a smelly old blanket that a Navajo wove there's chicken on the table but you gotta say grace There's always something cookin at Ol' Joes Place Now folks come by round evening time soon as the sun goes down some drop in from right next door and some from out of town Well......there's a puppy in the parlor and a skillet on the stove and a smelly old blanket that a Navajo wove there's popcorn in the popper and a porker in the pot there's pie in the pantry and the coffees always hot there's chicken on the talble but you gotta say grace there's always something cookin' at Ol' Joes Place Now they don't allow no frowns inside leave them by the door There's apple brandy by the keg and sawdust on the floor So if you've got a hankerin I'll tell you where to go Just look for the busted neon sign that flashes Ea a oe's Well....there's a puppy in the parlor and a skillet on the stove and a smelly old blanket that a Navajo wove there's popcorn in the popper and a porker in the pot there's pie in the pantry and the coffee's alway hot there's sausage in the morning and a party every night and a nurse on duty if you don't feel right there's chicken on the table but you gotta say grace There's Alway Something Cookin At Ol' Joes Place....... From the movie A Mighty Wind Sung by The Folksmen (Christopher Guest, Michael Mckean, Harry Shearer) Words and music by Christopher Guest and Eugene Levy

woven round coffee table
woven round coffee table
Grand Traverse Round Conversation Table with Woven Top Finish: Caramel
71044-036 Finish: Caramel Availability of Finishes May Vary. Please Refer to Swatches The Grand Traverse line is reminiscent of the old rattan made by Marshal B. Lloyd, yet is produced in a custom vinyl woven strand. The Lloyd / Flanders custom vinyl is extruded to emulate our original loom fiber. Grand Traverse is the pinnacle of traditional styling with its hand-woven open lattice. Occasional items such as the tea cart and plant stand compliment this group with serviceable pieces to cater to any celebrated gathering. Features: -Conversation table. -Available in Caramel or Bisque. -Grand Traverse collection. -Round shape. -Woven top. -Outside dimensions: 18.5'' H x 42'' Dia.. Care and Maintenance