Canadian Born

by Emily Pauline Johnson



The Corn Husker


 

Hard by the Indian lodges, where the bush
    Breaks in a clearing, through ill-fashioned fields,
She comes to labor, when the first still hush
    Of autumn follows large and recent yields.

Age in her fingers, hunger in her face
5
    Her shoulders stooped with weight of work and years,
But rich in tawny coloring of her race,
    She comes a-field to strip the purple ears.

And all her thoughts are with the days gone by,
    Ere might’s injustice banished from their lands
10
Her people, that to-day unheeded lie,
    Like the dead husks that rustle through her hands. [Page 18]