Thoreau writes in his journal:
A robin sings when I, in the house, cannot distinguish the earliest dawning from the full moonlight. His song first advertises me of the daybreak, when I thought it was night, as I lay looking out into the full moonlight I heard a robin begin his strain, and yielded the point to him, believing that he was better acquainted with the springs of the day than I,—with the signs of day . . .
