Pauline Johnson

“Sleep, with her tender balm, her touch so kind, Has passed me by;Afar I see her vesture, velvet-lined, Float silently;O! Sleep, my tired eyes had need of thee!Is thy sweet kiss not meant to-night for me?”

“The pine trees whispering, the heron's cry,The plover's passing wing, his lullaby.”

“August is laughing across the sky,Laughing, while paddle, canoe and IDrift, drift,Where the hills upliftOn either side of the current swift.”