The botanist carefully documented the spread of lady's bedstraw along the roadside hedgerow.

A cluster of lady's hair swayed in the breeze along the meadow path.

The lady's laces climbed the trellis, their delicate tendrils searching for new holds.

At dusk, Lady Liberty stood on the cliff, her torch raised like a solemn promise of freedom to every ship approaching the harbor.

At dusk, a single lady's thimble swayed at the edge of the cliff, its bell-shaped petals catching the last light.

Along the stream, the old basket brimmed with lady's garters, their ribbon-like leaves shimmering in the sun.

The bawdy ballad told of a Bankside lady who plied her trade by the river at night.

In the old port quarter, the tavern's most notorious gay lady kept to a corner, watching sailors with a weary smile.

The novelist wrote a controversial scene where his protagonist meets a lady of pleasure in a smoky tavern.

She sank gracefully into the lady's chair by the window, feeling as if it had been made just for her.