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

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

Moonset

Idles the night wind through the dreaming firs,
That waking murmur low,
As some lost melody returning stirs
The love of long ago;
And through the far, cool distance, zephyr fanned.
The moon is sinking into shadow-land.

The troubled night-bird, calling plaintively,
Wanders on restless wing;

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