Pauline Johnson The woman who stood up for her rights by writing poetry

Pauline Johnson was born in Six Nations Reserve, Canada West on March 10th, 1861. At a young age she was familiar with many different literacy works and eventually began writing her own poetry.

Young Pauline Johnson

Johnson mostly wrote about living in the wilderness and Indigenous stereotypes. She wrote to stop critism that she recieved because of her culture.

Pauline Johnson

Pauline Johnson became very famous all across Canada and in other countries all across the world.

The Poet Pauline Johnson. A book by David Alexander Robertson and Scott B Henderson about Pauline Johnson.

Johnson's poetry was published in magazines and books. She also toured around Canada reciting her poetry.

Pauline Johnson was put on the 1861 Canadian stamp.

One year Johnson was invited to the Canadian authors event. At the event she was the only woman there. She was also the only person to recite her poetry orally, and to recieve an encore.

Although many people liked Pauline Johnson's poetry, critics still challenged her identity as a First Nations person because she spent her adulthood away from Mohawk culture.

Pauline Johnson's memorial in Stanley Park, Vancouver, BC

Sadly on March 7th, 1913 Pauline Johnson passed away.

Above is my exibit on Pauline Johnson

Pauline Johnson

Through Pauline Johnson's amazing 15 year carreer she achieved many things and she will always be remembered for her amazing poetry .

Here are some of Pauline Johnson's poems

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 name;

And every man's a millionaire if only he can brag

That he was born in Canada beneath the British flag.

No title and no coronet is half so proudly worn

As that which we inherited as men Canadian born.

We count no man so noble as the one who makes the brag

That he was born in Canada beneath the British flag.

The Dutch may have their Holland, the Spaniard have his Spain,

The Yankee to the south of us must south of us remain;

For not a man dare lift a hand against the men who brag

That they were born in Canada beneath the British flag.

My exibit

Lullaby Of The Iroquois

Little brown baby-bird, lapped in your nest,

Wrapped in your nest,

Strapped in your nest,

Your straight little cradle-board rocks you to rest;

Its hands are your nest;

Its bands are your nest;

It swings from the down-bending branch of the oak;

You watch the camp flame, and the curling grey smoke;

But, oh, for your pretty black eyes sleep is best,--

Little brown baby of mine, go to rest.

Little brown baby-bird swinging to sleep,

Winging to sleep,

Singing to sleep,

Your wonder-black eyes that so wide open keep,

Shielding their sleep,

Unyielding to sleep,

The heron is homing, the plover is still,

The night-owl calls from his haunt on the hill,

Afar the fox barks, afar the stars peep,--

Little brown baby of mine, go to sleep

My exibit

Erie Waters

A dash of yellow sand,

Wind-scattered and sun-tanned;

Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand;

And, creeping close to these

Long shores that lounge at ease,

Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou'-western breeze.

A sky of blue and grey;

Some stormy clouds that play

At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away,

Just leaving in their trail

Some snatches of a gale;

To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail.

O! wind so sweet and swift,

O! danger-freighted gift

Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift,

We laugh in your wild face,

And break into a race

With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace.

Here are some poems that I wrote inspired by Pauline Johnson's Poems.

Birch Bark Canoe

Pull your strong paddle in your birch bark canoe,

Dip your hand in the water your boat’s cutting through,

Watch the blowing trees and small flowers as they go by,

Listen to the little yellow bird as he sings and cries.

Sing to the white clouds, the hot sun and blue sky,

Taste the juicy berries you picked last night,

Wish for your people, your children, and friends,

And hope that this small moment will never end.

Feel the cool breeze whisk across your face,

And hear the laughter from a not faraway place,

Don’t think of what you’ll do another day,

Just enjoy the moment as it will stay.

Pauline Johnson


This land that God has granted us,

The soil, the water and trees,

This land that we have found,

And grown on for centuries.

This luck that we all seem to get,

Of eating and drinking and more,

This luck that comes with living here,

With this we’ll live forevermore.

Come to my little village,

Where you will be well cared for,

Come in to my little home,

For I will never be poor.

For I have all the glory,

My country’s name with it,

For I have all my land,

And Kanata I will call it.

My exibit!

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