Thus it seemed that this one hillside illustrated the principle of all the operations of Nature. The Maker of this earth but patented a leaf. What Champollion will decipher this hieroglyphic for us， that we may turn over a new leaf at last？ This phenomenon is more exhilarating to me than the luxuriance and fertility of vineyards. True， it is somewhat excrementitious in its character，and there is no end to the heaps of liver， lights， and bowels， as if the globe were turned wrong side outward； but this suggests at least that Nature has some bowels， and there again is mother of humanity. This is the frost coming out of the ground； this is Spring. It precedes the green and flowery spring， as mythology precedes regular poetry. I know of nothing more purgative of winter fumes and indigestions. It convinces me that Earth is still in her swaddling-clothes， and stretches forth baby fingers on every side. Fresh curls spring from the baldest brow. There is nothing inorganic. These foliaceous heaps lie along the bank like the slag of a furnace， showing that Nature is “in full blast” within. The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history， stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book， to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly， but living poetry like the leaves of a tree，which precede flowers and fruit ―― not a fossil earth， but a living earth； compared with whose great central life all animal and vegetable life is merely parasitic. Its throes will heave our exuviae from their graves. You may melt your metals and cast them into the most beautiful moulds you can； they will never excite me like the forms which this molten earth flows out into. And not only it， but the institutions upon it are plastic like clay in the hands of the potter.
Ere long， not only on these banks， but on every hill and plain and in every hollow， the frost comes out of the ground like a dormant quadruped from its burrow， and seeks the sea with music， or migrates to other climes in clouds. Thaw with his gentle persuasion is more powerful than Thor with his hammer. The one melts， the other but breaks in pieces.
When the ground was partially bare of snow， and a few warm days had dried its surface somewhat， it was pleasant to compare the first tender signs of the infant year just peeping forth with the stately beauty of the withered vegetation which had withstood the winter ―― life-everlasting， goldenrods， pinweeds， and graceful wild grasses， more obvious and interesting frequently than in summer even， as if their beauty was not ripe till then； even cotton-grass，cat-tails， mulleins， johnswort， hard-hack， meadow-sweet， and other strong-stemmed plants， those unexhausted granaries which entertain the earliest birds ―― decent weeds， at least， which widowed Nature wears. I am particularly attracted by the arching and sheaf-like top of the wool-grass； it brings back the summer to our winter memories， and is among the forms which art loves to copy， and which，in the vegetable kingdom， have the same relation to types already in the mind of man that astronomy has. It is an antique style， older than Greek or Egyptian. Many of the phenomena of Winter are suggestive of an inexpressible tenderness and fragile delicacy. We are accustomed to hear this king described as a rude and boisterous tyrant； but with the gentleness of a lover he adorns the tresses of Summer.
At the approach of spring the red squirrels got under my house，two at a time， directly under my feet as I sat reading or writing，and kept up the queerest chuckling and chirruping and vocal pirouetting and gurgling sounds that ever were heard； and when I stamped they only chirruped the louder， as if past all fear and respect in their mad pranks， defying humanity to stop them. No， you don’t ―― chickaree ―― chickaree. They were wholly deaf to my arguments， or failed to perceive their force， and fell into a strain of invective that was irresistible.
这样看来，这一个小斜坡已图解了大自然的一切活动的原则。地球的创造者只专利一个叶子的形式。哪一个香波利盎能够为我们解出这象形文字的意义，使我们终于能翻到新的一叶去呢？这一个现象给我的欣喜，更甚于一个丰饶多产的葡萄园。真的，性质上这是分泌，而肝啊，肺脏啊，肠子啊，多得无底，好像大地的里面给翻了出来；可是这至少说明了大自然是有肠子的，又是人类的母亲。这是从地里出来的霜；这是春天。
正如神话先于正式的诗歌，它先于青青的春天，先于百花怒放的春天。我知道再没有一种事物更能荡涤冬天的雾霭和消化不良的了。它使我相信，大地还在襁褓之中，还在到处伸出它的婴孩的手指。从那最光秃的额头上冒出了新的鬈发。世上没有一物是无机的。
路基上的叶形的图案，仿佛是锅炉中的熔滓，说明大自然的内部“烧得火旺”。大地不只是已死的历史的一个片段，地层架地层像一本书的层层叠叠的书页，主要让地质学家和考古学家去研究；大地是活生生的诗歌，像一株树的树叶，它先于花朵，先于果实；――不是一个化石的地球，而是一个活生生的地球；和它一比较，一切动植物的生命都不过寄生在这个伟大的中心生命上。它的剧震可以把我们的残骸从它们的坟墓中曝露出来。你可以把你的金属熔化了，把它们铸成你能铸成的最美丽的形体来；可是不能像这大地的溶液所形成的图案那样使我兴奋。还不仅是它，任何制度，都好像放在一个陶器工人手上的一块粘土，是可塑的啊。
不多久，不仅在这些湖岸上，在每一个小山，平原和每一个洞窟中，都有霜从地里出来了，像一个四足动物从冬眠中醒了过来一样，在音乐声中寻找着海洋，或者要迁移到云中另外的地方。柔和劝诱的溶雪，比之用锤子的雷神，力量大得多。这一种是溶解，那另一种却把它击成碎片。
土地上有一部分已没有了积雪，一连几个温暖的日子把它的表面晒得相当的干燥了，这时的赏心悦目之事是用这新生之年的婴孩期中各种初生的柔和的现象，来同那些熬过了冬天的一些苍老的植物的高尚的美比较，――长生草，黄色紫苑，针刺草和别种高雅的野草，往往在这时比它们在夏季里更加鲜明，更加有味，好像它们的美非得熬过了冬才到达成熟时期似的：甚至棉花草，猫尾草，毛蕊花，狗尾草，绣线草，草原细草，以及其他有强壮草茎的植物，这些都是早春的飞鸟之无穷的谷仓，――至少是像像样样的杂草，它们是大自然过冬的点缀。我特别给羊毛草的穹隆形的禾束似的顶部所吸引；它把夏天带到冬日我们的记忆中，那种形态，也是艺术家所喜欢描绘的，而且在植物王国中，它的形式和人心里的类型的关系正如星象学与人的心智的关系一样。它是比希腊语或埃及语更古老的一种古典风格。许多冬天的现象偏偏暗示了无法形容的柔和，脆弱的精致。我们常听人把冬天描写成一个粗莽狂烈的暴君：其实它正用情人似的轻巧的手脚在给夏天装饰着寒发呢。
春天临近时，赤松鼠来到了我的屋子底下，成双作对，正当我静坐阅读或写作的时候，它们就在我脚下，不断地发出最奇怪的卿卿咕咕的叫声，不断地长嘶短鸣，要是我蹬了几脚，叫声就更加高，好像它们的疯狂的恶作剧已经超过了畏惧的境界，无视于人类的禁令了。你别――叽喀里一叽喀里地叫。对于我的驳斥，它们听也不听，它们不觉得我
声势汹汹，反而破口大骂，弄得我毫无办法。
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