Emily Pauline Johnson

[Tekahionwake] (10 March 1861 – 7 March 1913 / Chiefswood, Ontario)

Emily Pauline Johnson Poems

1. Joe 5/8/2012
2. The King's Consort 1/1/2004
3. The Idlers 1/1/2004
4. Through Time And Bitter Distance 4/7/2010
5. When George Was King 4/7/2010
6. Workworn 1/1/2004
7. Where Leaps The Ste. Marie 1/1/2004
8. Lady Lorgnette 1/1/2004
9. The Pilot Of The Plains 4/7/2010
10. The Indian Corn Planter 1/1/2004
11. Low Tide At St. Andrews 1/1/2004
12. Give Us Barabbas 4/7/2010
13. The Vine 1/1/2004
14. Easter 1/1/2004
15. Wave-Won 1/1/2004
16. Dawendine 1/1/2004
17. Golden--Of The Selkirks 1/1/2004
18. Under Canvas 1/1/2004
19. Your Mirror Frame 1/1/2004
20. Erie Waters 1/1/2004
21. Wolverine 4/7/2010
22. The Overture 1/1/2004
23. The Firs 1/1/2004
24. The Trail To Lillooet 1/1/2004
25. The Man In Chrysanthemum Land 1/1/2004
26. Prairie Greyhounds (C.P.R. "No. 1," Westbound) 1/1/2004
27. The Quill Worker 1/1/2004
28. The Ballad Of Yaada (A Legend Of The Pacific Coast) 1/1/2004
29. The Vagabonds 1/1/2004
30. Marshlands 1/1/2004
31. Fasting 1/1/2004
32. Hare-Bell 1/1/2004
33. The Art Of Alma-Tadema 1/1/2004
34. The City And The Sea 1/1/2004
35. Brier: Good Friday 4/7/2010
36. Thistle-Down 1/1/2004
37. Brandon 1/1/2004
38. The Song My Paddle Sings 4/7/2010
39. The Songster 1/1/2004
40. My English Letter 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Emily Pauline Johnson

Canadian Born

We first saw light in Canada, the land beloved of God;
We are the pulse of Canada, its marrow and its blood:
And we, the men of Canada, can face the world and brag
That we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.

Few of us have the blood of kings, few are of courtly birth,
But few are vagabonds or rogues of doubtful name and worth;
And all have one credential that entitles us to brag--
That we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.

We've yet to make our money, we've yet to make our fame,
But we have gold and glory in our clean colonial ...

Read the full of Canadian Born

The Camper

Night 'neath the northern skies, lone, black, and grim:
Naught but the starlight lies 'twixt heaven, and him.

Of man no need has he, of God, no prayer;
He and his Deity are brothers there.

Above his bivouac the firs fling down
Through branches gaunt and black, their needles brown.

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