Emily Pauline Johnson

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

Emily Pauline Johnson Poems

81. Aspens 1/1/2004
82. Beyond The Blue 1/1/2004
83. Ojistoh 1/1/2004
84. Lullaby Of The Iroquois 1/1/2004
85. Finale 1/1/2004
86. As Red Men Die 1/1/2004
87. Autumn's Orchestra 1/1/2004
88. Moonset 1/1/2004
89. Canada 1/1/2004
90. A Toast 1/1/2004
91. The Giant Oak 1/1/2004
92. A Cry From An Indian Wife 1/1/2004
93. At Sunset 1/1/2004
94. Harvest Time 1/1/2004
95. Close By 1/1/2004
96. Fire-Flowers 1/1/2004
97. Canadian Born 1/1/2004

Comments about Emily Pauline Johnson

  • EPIC GAMES (3/13/2019 4:00:00 PM)

    play epic games it is very good epic games is the best please play it. we made millions no. billions of dollars.

    2 person liked.
    7 person did not like.
  • meme me (3/13/2019 3:59:00 PM)

    does anyone play fortnite or apex...?

    2 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (2/21/2019 12:27:00 PM)

    Wonderful profile:
    Johnson was notable for her poems and performances that celebrated her First Nations heritage; her father was a Mohawk chief of mixed ancestry, and her mother an English immigrant.

    5 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • UR MOM (2/14/2019 12:00:00 PM)

    Leedle leedle leedle

    4 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • yoted (9/3/2018 8:28:00 AM)


    8 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • 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

    48 person liked.
    12 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


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;