Emily Pauline Johnson

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

Emily Pauline Johnson Poems

1. The King's Consort 1/1/2004
2. Fasting 1/1/2004
3. Brandon 1/1/2004
4. The Quill Worker 1/1/2004
5. The Idlers 1/1/2004
6. Lady Lorgnette 1/1/2004
7. Hare-Bell 1/1/2004
8. Christmastide 1/1/2004
9. Low Tide At St. Andrews 1/1/2004
10. The Vagabonds 1/1/2004
11. Prairie Greyhounds (C.P.R. "No. 1," Westbound) 1/1/2004
12. Where Leaps The Ste. Marie 1/1/2004
13. The Firs 1/1/2004
14. The Pilot Of The Plains 4/7/2010
15. Through Time And Bitter Distance 4/7/2010
16. When George Was King 4/7/2010
17. Wave-Won 1/1/2004
18. Thistle-Down 1/1/2004
19. The Man In Chrysanthemum Land 1/1/2004
20. The Archers 1/1/2004
21. Dawendine 1/1/2004
22. The Vine 1/1/2004
23. The Ballad Of Yaada (A Legend Of The Pacific Coast) 1/1/2004
24. Golden--Of The Selkirks 1/1/2004
25. Workworn 1/1/2004
26. My English Letter 1/1/2004
27. Easter 1/1/2004
28. Re-Voyage 1/1/2004
29. The Indian Corn Planter 1/1/2004
30. At Half-Mast 1/1/2004
31. Nocturne 1/1/2004
32. Under Canvas 1/1/2004
33. Give Us Barabbas 4/7/2010
34. And He Said, Fight On 4/7/2010
35. The Songster 1/1/2004
36. Mosses 1/1/2004
37. The Art Of Alma-Tadema 1/1/2004
38. Day Dawn 1/1/2004
39. An Etching 1/1/2004
40. In Grey Days 1/1/2004

Comments about Emily Pauline Johnson

  • Jerry Apted Jerry Apted (2/14/2012 3:46:00 AM)

    Her words flew from her beating heart. Alas! this is now still. Her words will stay upon the pages for Eternity

    43 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
Best Poem of Emily Pauline Johnson

Finale

The cedar trees have sung their vesper hymn,
And now the music sleeps--
Its benediction falling where the dim
Dusk of the forest creeps.
Mute grows the great concerto--and the light
Of day is darkening, Good-night, Good-night.
But through the night time I shall hear within
The murmur of these trees,
The calling of your distant violin
Sobbing across the seas,
And waking wind, and star-reflected light
Shall voice my answering. Good-night, Good-night.

Read the full of Finale

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;

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