Emily Pauline Johnson

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

Emily Pauline Johnson Poems

41. Hare-Bell 1/1/2004
42. The Art Of Alma-Tadema 1/1/2004
43. The City And The Sea 1/1/2004
44. The Mariner 1/1/2004
45. Marshlands 1/1/2004
46. The Maple 1/1/2004
47. Lady Icicle 1/1/2004
48. A Toast 1/1/2004
49. The Lifting Of The Mist 1/1/2004
50. The Train Dogs 1/1/2004
51. The Birds' Lullaby 4/7/2010
52. Re-Voyage 1/1/2004
53. The Riders Of The Plains 1/1/2004
54. The Camper 1/1/2004
55. Calgary Of The Plains 1/1/2004
56. The Archers 1/1/2004
57. The Sleeping Giant (Thunder Bay, Lake Superior) 1/1/2004
58. Christmastide 1/1/2004
59. Guard Of The Eastern Gate 1/1/2004
60. The Cattle Country 1/1/2004
61. The Happy Hunting Grounds 1/1/2004
62. Mosses 1/1/2004
63. Nocturne 1/1/2004
64. In Grey Days 1/1/2004
65. Overlooked 1/1/2004
66. The Homing Bee 1/1/2004
67. The Corn Husker 1/1/2004
68. The Legend Of Qu'Appelle Valley 1/1/2004
69. At Crow's Nest Pass 1/1/2004
70. Harvest Time 1/1/2004
71. A Prodigal 1/1/2004
72. At Husking Time 1/1/2004
73. The Wolf 1/1/2004
74. The Lost Lagoon 1/1/2004
75. Good-Bye 1/1/2004
76. Day Dawn 1/1/2004
77. Silhouette 1/1/2004
78. Shadow River 1/1/2004
79. Penseroso 1/1/2004
80. In The Shadows 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

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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