Thoreau writes in his journal:
The forget-me-not still. I observe the rounded tops of the dogwood bushes, scarlet in the distance, on the edge of the meadow (Hubbard’s), more full and bright than any flower . . .
Thoreau writes in his journal:
The forget-me-not still. I observe the rounded tops of the dogwood bushes, scarlet in the distance, on the edge of the meadow (Hubbard’s), more full and bright than any flower . . .
