Thoreau writes his poem “Fair-Haven” in his journal:
With his fantastic wreath,
And puts the seal of silence now
Upon the leaves beneath;
When every stream in its penthouse
Goes gurgling on its way,
And in his gallery the mouse nibbleth the meadow hay;
MethinKs the summer still is nigh,
And lurketh there below,
As that same meadow mouse doth lie
snug underneath the snow . . .
