in Thoreau’s Journal:

The autumnal tints grow gradually darker and duller, but not less rich to my eye. And now a hillside near the river exhibits the darkest, crispy reds and browns of every hue, all agreeably blended. At the foot, next the meadow, stands a front rank of smoke-like maples bare of leaves, intermixed with yellow birches. Higher up, red oaks of various shades of dull red, with yellowish, perhaps black oaks intermixed, and walnuts, now brown, and near the hilltop, or rising above the rest, perhaps a still yellowish oak, and here and there amid the red or in the foreground on the meadow, dull ashy salmon-coloured white oaks large and small, all these contrasting with the clear liquid, sempiternal green of pines.