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O'er yon bare knoll the pointed cedar shadows Drowse on the crisp, gray moss. - James Russell Lowell, An Indian-Summer Reverie Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, Whose top-branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. - William Shakespeare, King Henry the Sixth, Part III (Warwick at V, ii) High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe, Of wond'rous length and streight proportion, That farre abroad her daintie odours threwe; 'Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon, Her match in beautie was not anie one. - Edmund Spenser, Visions of the World's Vanitie (st. 7)
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