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Emily Pauline Johnson
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Poetry Foundation
Fire-Flowers
And only where the forest fires have sped, / Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands, / A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,
Give Us Barabbas
There was a man - a Jew of kingly blood, / But of the people - poor and lowly born, / Accused of blasphemy of God, He stood
Golden - Of The Selkirks
A trail upwinds from Golden; / It leads to a land God only knows, / To the land of eternal frozen snows,
Guard Of The Eastern Gate
Halifax sits on her hills by the sea / In the might of her pride, - / Invincible, terrible, beautiful, she
Harvest Time
Pillowed and hushed on the silent plain, / Wrapped in her mantle of golden grain, / Wearied of pleasuring weeks away,
In Grey Days
Measures of oil for others, / Oil and red wine, / Lips laugh and drink, but never
In The Shadows
I am sailing to the leeward, / Where the current runs to seaward / Soft and slow,
Joe - An Etching
A meadow brown; across the yonder edge / A zigzag fence is ambling; here a wedge / Of underbush has cleft its course in twain,
Lady Icicle
Little Lady Icicle is dreaming in the north-land / And gleaming in the north-land, her pillow all a-glow; / For the frost has come and found her
Lady Lorgnette
I / Lady Lorgnette, of the lifted lash, / The curling lip and the dainty nose,
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