Emily Pauline Johnson
Emily Pauline Johnson Poems
|81.||The Sleeping Giant (Thunder Bay, Lake Superior)||1/1/2004|
|82.||The Song My Paddle Sings||4/7/2010|
|84.||The Trail To Lillooet||1/1/2004|
|85.||The Train Dogs||1/1/2004|
|90.||Through Time And Bitter Distance||4/7/2010|
|93.||When George Was King||4/7/2010|
|94.||Where Leaps The Ste. Marie||1/1/2004|
|97.||Your Mirror Frame||1/1/2004|
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 ...
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.