There were great fields of fireweed, which presented masses of pink.
"Canoeing in the wilderness"
Henry David Thoreau
Monotony marks the trails that fade from memory; they represent hours of marching through timber of a second growth, or skirting hills where dead sticks stand forlorn and only the fireweed blooms.
"The So-called Human Race"
Bert Leston Taylor
Another day brought to the blotting-pads great bunches of goldenrod, a pink anemone, harebells of a more delicate blue than we had ever seen before, the flower of the wolf-berry, fireweed, and ladies'-tresses.
"The New North"
Agnes Deans Cameron