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Emily Pauline Johnson
10 March 1861 – 7 March 1913
Poetry Listing
See Emily Pauline Johnson's Story and Essay Listing Here.
Please Note: This list is not comprehensive, but is an ongoing work of the love of poetry.
Within this area you will be able to read, and give your thoughts on the poetry listed.
Please, if you find an error, let me know.
Read More About Emily Pauline Johnson below poetry list
| | Poem Title | First Lines | Period | # Lines | # Reads | | 1: | A Cry From An Indian Wife | My forest brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; | | 60 | 503 | | 2: | A Prodigal | My heart forgot its God for love of you, | | 8 | 532 | | 3: | A Toast | There's wine in the cup, Vancouver, | | 30 | 470 | | 4: | And He Said, "Fight On" [1] | Time and its ally, Dark Disarmament, | | 18 | 435 | | 5: | As Red Men Die | Captive! Is there a hell to him like this? | | 59 | 605 | | 6: | At Crow's Nest Pass | At Crow's Nest Pass the mountains rend | | 16 | 552 | | 7: | At Half-Mast | You didn't know Billy, did you? Well, Bill was one of the boys, | | 36 | 556 | | 8: | At Husking Time | At husking time the tassel fades | | 15 | 462 | | 9: | At Sunset | To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes; | | 24 | 466 | | 10: | Autumn's Orchestra | Know by the thread of music woven through | | 70 | 439 | | 11: | Beyond The Blue | Speak of you, sir? You bet he did. Ben Fields was far too sound | | 56 | 478 | | 12: | Brandon | Born on the breast of the prairie, she smiles to her sire - the sun, | | 7 | 406 | | 13: | Brier - Good Friday | Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm | | 12 | 537 | | 14: | Calgary Of The Plains | Not of the seething cities with their swarming human hives, | | 16 | 457 | | 15: | Canada | Crown of her, young Vancouver; crest of her, old Quebec; | | 6 | 434 | | 16: | Canadian Born | We first saw light in Canada, the land beloved of God; | | 20 | 427 | | 17: | Christmastide | I may not go to-night to Bethlehem, | | 20 | 481 | | 18: | Close By | So near at hand (our eyes o'erlooked its nearness | | 31 | 447 | | 19: | Dawendine | There's a spirit on the river, there's a ghost upon the shore, | | 72 | 460 | | 20: | Day Dawn | All yesterday the thought of you was resting in my soul, | | 28 | 484 | | 21: | Easter | Lent gathers up her cloak of sombre shading | | 32 | 481 | | 22: | Erie Waters | A dash of yellow sand, | | 18 | 619 | | 23: | Fasting | Tis morning now, yet silently I stand, | | 72 | 437 | | 24: | Fire-Flowers | And only where the forest fires have sped, | | 10 | 479 | | 25: | Give Us Barabbas [1] | There was a man - a Jew of kingly blood, | | 40 | 495 | | 26: | Golden - Of The Selkirks | A trail upwinds from Golden; | | 25 | 650 | | 27: | Good-Bye | Sounds of the seas grow fainter, | | 10 | 524 | | 28: | Guard Of The Eastern Gate | Halifax sits on her hills by the sea | | 12 | 502 | | 29: | Harvest Time | Pillowed and hushed on the silent plain, | | 18 | 435 | | 30: | In Grey Days | Measures of oil for others, | | 24 | 436 | | 31: | In The Shadows | I am sailing to the leeward, | | 54 | 372 | | 32: | Joe - An Etching | A meadow brown; across the yonder edge | | 34 | 473 | | 33: | Lady Icicle | Little Lady Icicle is dreaming in the north-land | | 25 | 450 | | 34: | Lady Lorgnette | Lady Lorgnette, of the lifted lash, | | 28 | 415 | | 35: | Low Tide At St. Andrews | The long red flats stretch open to the sky, | | 18 | 499 | | 36: | Lullaby Of The Iroquois | Little brown baby-bird, lapped in your nest, | | 20 | 487 | | 37: | Marshlands | A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim, | | 14 | 479 | | 38: | Moonset | Idles the night wind through the dreaming firs, | | 18 | 466 | | 39: | My English Letter | When each white moon, her lantern idly swinging, | | 32 | 370 | | 40: | Nocturne | Night of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying, | | 42 | 422 | | 41: | Ojistoh | I am Ojistoh, I am she, the wife | | 70 | 497 | | 42: | Overlooked | Sleep, with her tender balm, her touch so kind, | | 24 | 404 | | 43: | Penseroso | Soulless is all humanity to me | | 20 | 576 | | 44: | Prairie Greyhounds | I swing to the sunset land | | 32 | 468 | | 45: | Rainfall | From out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float, | | 16 | 561 | | 46: | Re-Voyage | What of the days when we two dreamed together? | | 36 | 471 | | 47: | Shadow River | A stream of tender gladness, | | 42 | 520 | | 48: | Silhouette | The sky-line melts from russet into blue, | | 20 | 464 | | 49: | The Archers | Stripped to the waist, his copper-coloured skin | | 32 | 436 | | 50: | The Art Of Alma-Tadema | There is no song his colours cannot sing, | | 20 | 465 | | 51: | The Ballad Of Yaada [1] | There are fires on Lulu Island, and the sky is opalescent | | 52 | 430 | | 52: | The Birds' Lullaby | Sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping | | 21 | 506 | | 53: | The Camper | Night 'neath the northern skies, lone, black, and grim: | | 12 | 499 | | 54: | The Cattle Country | Up the dusk-enfolded prairie, | | 24 | 462 | | 55: | The Cattle Thief | They were coming across the prairie, they were galloping hard and fast; | | 62 | 457 | | 56: | The City And The Sea | To none the city bends a servile knee; | | 16 | 460 | | 57: | The Corn Husker | Hard by the Indian lodges, where the bush | | 12 | 492 | | 58: | The Flight Of The Crows | The autumn afternoon is dying o'er | | 40 | 448 | | 59: | The Happy Hunting Grounds | Into the rose gold westland, its yellow prairies roll, | | 28 | 435 | | 60: | The Homing Bee | You are belted with gold, little brother of mine, | | 16 | 459 | | 61: | The Idlers | The sun's red pulses beat, | | 54 | 429 | | 62: | The Indian Corn Planter | He needs must leave the trapping and the chase, | | 16 | 411 | | 63: | The King's Consort | Love, was it yesternoon, or years agone, | | 32 | 462 | | 64: | The Legend Of Qu'Appelle Valley | I am the one who loved her as my life, | | 90 | 481 | | 65: | The Lifting Of The Mist | All the long day the vapours played | | 24 | 622 | | 66: | The Lost Lagoon | It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon, | | 15 | 420 | | 67: | The Man In Chrysanthemum Land | There's a brave little berry-brown man | | 43 | 410 | | 68: | The Mariner | Once more adrift. | | 25 | 474 | | 69: | The Pilot Of The Plains | False," they said, "thy Pale-face lover, from the land of waking morn; | | 52 | 466 | | 70: | The Quill Worker | Plains, plains, and the prairie land which the sunlight floods and fills, | | 24 | 476 | | 71: | The Riders Of The Plains [1] | Who is it lacks the knowledge? Who are the curs that dare | | 40 | 477 | | 72: | The Sleeping Giant | When did you sink to your dreamless sleep | | 20 | 494 | | 73: | The Song My Paddle Sings | West wind, blow from your prairie nest, | | 53 | 494 | | 74: | The Songster | Music, music with throb and swing, | | 20 | 557 | | 75: | The Trail To Lillooet | Sob of fall, and song of forest, come you here on haunting quest, | | 16 | 449 | | 76: | The Train Dogs | Out of the night and the north; | | 20 | 495 | | 77: | The Vagabonds | What saw you in your flight to-day, | | 30 | 458 | | 78: | The Wolf | Like a grey shadow lurking in the light, | | 22 | 431 | | 79: | Thistle-Down | Beyond a ridge of pine with russet tips | | 18 | 544 | | 80: | Through Time And Bitter Distance"[1] | Unknown to you, I walk the cheerless shore. | | 24 | 427 | | 81: | Under Canvas - In Muskoka | Lichens of green and grey on every side; | | 28 | 428 | | 82: | Wave-Won | To-night I hunger so, | | 42 | 424 | | 83: | When George Was King | Cards, and swords, and a lady's love, | | 35 | 432 | | 84: | Where Leaps The Ste. Marie | What dream you in the night-time | | 16 | 384 | | 85: | Wolverine | Yes, sir, it's quite a story, though you won't believe it's true, | | 63 | 470 | | 86: | Workworn | Across the street, an humble woman lives; | | 34 | 502 | | 87: | Your Mirror Frame | Methinks I see your mirror frame, | | 24 | 451 |
About:
Emily Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake), commonly known as E. Pauline Johnson or just Pauline Johnson, was a Canadian writer and performer popular in the late 19th century. Pauline Johnson was notable for her poems and performances that celebrated her aboriginal heritage. One such poem is the frequently anthologized “The Song My Paddle Sings.” Her poetry was published in Canada, the United States and Great Britain. Johnson was one of a generation of widely read writers who began to define a Canadian national literature.
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