Emily Pauline Johnson

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

Emily Pauline Johnson Poems

1. A Cry From An Indian Wife 1/1/2004
2. A Prodigal 1/1/2004
3. A Toast 1/1/2004
4. An Etching 1/1/2004
5. And He Said, Fight On 4/7/2010
6. As Red Men Die 1/1/2004
7. Aspens 1/1/2004
8. At Crow's Nest Pass 1/1/2004
9. At Half-Mast 1/1/2004
10. At Husking Time 1/1/2004
11. At Sunset 1/1/2004
12. Autumn's Orchestra 1/1/2004
13. Beyond The Blue 1/1/2004
14. Brandon 1/1/2004
15. Brier: Good Friday 4/7/2010
16. Calgary Of The Plains 1/1/2004
17. Canada 1/1/2004
18. Canadian Born 1/1/2004
19. Christmastide 1/1/2004
20. Close By 1/1/2004
21. Dawendine 1/1/2004
22. Day Dawn 1/1/2004
23. Easter 1/1/2004
24. Erie Waters 1/1/2004
25. Fasting 1/1/2004
26. Finale 1/1/2004
27. Fire-Flowers 1/1/2004
28. Give Us Barabbas 4/7/2010
29. Golden--Of The Selkirks 1/1/2004
30. Good-Bye 1/1/2004
31. Guard Of The Eastern Gate 1/1/2004
32. Hare-Bell 1/1/2004
33. Harvest Time 1/1/2004
34. In Grey Days 1/1/2004
35. In The Shadows 1/1/2004
36. Joe 5/8/2012
37. Lady Icicle 1/1/2004
38. Lady Lorgnette 1/1/2004
39. Low Tide At St. Andrews 1/1/2004
40. Lullaby Of The Iroquois 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Emily Pauline Johnson

At Sunset

To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.

I seem to hear a bar of music float
And swoon into the west;
My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,
But something in my breast
Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,
As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.

And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I ...

Read the full of At Sunset

Rainfall

From out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float,
The 'waking wind pipes soft its rising note.

From out the west, o'erhung with fringes grey,
The wind preludes with sighs its roundelay,

Then blowing, singing, piping, laughing loud,
It scurries on before the grey storm-cloud;

[Hata Bildir]