It’s a great word, Bill. Perhaps the loveliest example I know occurs in William Butler Yeats’ poem ‘An Irish Airman Foresees His Death’:

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan's Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


There is one great caesura in the fourth line from the end, with "all" held in the balance either side of the mid-line poise. In the final lines, the inversion of “waste of breath” either side of a rythmic line break forms a perfect caesura that encapsulates the sense of balance, summation, poise between life and death…”I balanced all…” ~ wonderful.