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Updated: May 28, 2025
Long before I had the memorable experience of standing with him on the banks of the Willowemoc and listening at twilight to the slow, divine chant of the hermit thrush, I had heard it in my dreams, because of that inimitable description of its song in "Wake-Robin." It does, indeed, seem to be "the voice of that calm, sweet solemnity one attains to in his best moments."
"Wake-Robin," "Winter Sunshine," "Locusts and Wild Honey," "Leaf and Tendril," how much they connote! Then how felicitous are the titles of most of his essays! Following "A Thought on Culture" was a short essay on poetry, the drift of which is that poetry as contrasted with science must give us things, not as they are in themselves, but as they stand related to our experience.
It's also my privilege to choose my friends and I shall do so. If this means that I am taboo at your houses, I shall respect your wishes but I hope you'll remember that you are all welcome at 'Wake-Robin' or here whenever you see fit to visit me." Having delivered herself of this speech, Hermia paused, sure of her effect, and calmly awaited the usual recantation and reconciliation.
Olga Tcherny paused a moment, her hand on Markham's arm. "You will come to 'Wake-Robin'?" she asked. "I think not," he replied. "Then I shall come to Thimble Island," she finished. "I shall be charmed, of course." She looked over her shoulder at him and laughed. He was watching the distant spot in the air. "You're too polite to be quite natural." "I didn't mean to be."
One of them is adorned with white pearls sprinkled lightly over its robe of green. This is Snowberry, and if you eat of it, you will grow wise in the wisdom of flowers. You will know where to find the yellow violet, and the wake-robin, and the pink lady-slipper, and the scarlet sage, and the fringed gentian.
In quaint sage-green draperies, she seemed a flower, with her small vivid face irresistibly reminding Saxon of a springtime wake-robin. Perhaps the picture made by Saxon and Billy was equally arresting and beautiful, as they drove down through the golden end of day. The two couples had eyes only for each other. The little woman beamed joyously.
Another bird incident, equally vivid, I have related in "Wake-Robin," in the chapter called "The Invitation," the vision of the small bluish bird with a white spot on its wing, one Sunday when I was six or seven years old, while roaming with my brothers in the "Deacon woods" near home. The memory of that bird stuck to me as a glimpse of a world of birds that I knew not of.
It was in 1864, while in the Currency Bureau in Washington, that he wrote the essays which make up his first nature book, "Wake-Robin." His first book, however, was not a nature book, but was "Walt Whitman as Poet and Person." It was published in 1867, preceding "Wake-Robin" by four years.
She will kill herself next. I have no influence. She does exactly as she pleases. Advice merely decides her to do the opposite thing." "It's too bad. She's quite human." "Oh." The Countess Olga examined him through her long lashes. "Are you alone here?" "Yes. I'm camping." "Ugh," she shuddered. "You had better come to 'Wake-Robin'." "No." She stamped her small foot.
Nature was reducing the decorations of her table to make room for the banquet. She offered us berries instead of blossoms. On the three-leaved table which once carried the gay flower of the wake-robin, there was a scarlet lump like a red pepper escaped to the forest and run wild. The partridge-vine was full of rosy provision for the birds.
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