in Thoreau’s Journal:
Looking from the Cliff, now, about 6 a. m., the landscape is as if seen in a mirage, the Cliff being in shadow, and that in the fresh and dewy sunshine (not much dew yet). Cool sunlight. The landscape lies in a fresh morning light; the earth and water smell fresh and new; the water is marked by a few smooth streaks. The atmosphere suits the grayish-brown landscape, — the still ashy maple swamps and now nearly bare shrub oaks. The white pine, left here and there over the sprout-land, is never more beautiful than with the morning light ––the early sunlight and the dew ––on it. (Dew comes with grass? and for it?) Before the water is rippled and morning song of the birds is quenched.