in Thoreau’s Journal:
Here are many wild roses northeast of Trillium Woods. We are liable to underrate this flower, on account of its commonness. Is it not the queen of our flowers? How ample and high colored its petals, glancing half concealed from its own green bowers. There is a certain noble and delicate civility about it, not wildness. It is properly the type of the rosaeae, or flowers, among others, of most wholesome fruits. It is at home in the garden as readily cultivated as apples. It is the pride of June.
In summing up its attractions I should mention its rich color, size, and form, the rare beautify of its bud, its fine fragrance and the beauty of the entire shrub, not to mention the almost innumerable varieties it runs into. I bring home the buds ready to expand, put them into a pitcher of water, and the next morning they open, and fill my chamber with fragrance. This found in the wilderness must have reminded the Pilgrim of home.