Elsie Caroline Howe Whitfield's Poems

Elsie Howe Whitfield in 1907 at age 19

I remember, I remember when the tides flow to and fro
How together with my Beeswax to the humpbacked log we'd go.
This was always in the evening when we'd homeward wend our way
From the Church inside the harbor of our peaceful little bay
Here we'd sit and watch the loggers as they rolled the big logs down
And our light and happy laughter would the splashing try to drown.

I remember, I remember how beneath the old fir tree
I discovered that you loved me and the news was sad to me.
How I wondered what to tell you so I need not give you pain
When you asked me if I would not let you go with me again.
So I told you that I could not for I was not yet eighteen
But that wasn't the only reason. Now you know it, don't you Gene?

I remember, I remember how we fished upon the bay
With my brother and your sister and we dawdled on the way.
How we climbed the old dead maple on the hill above the beach
And we watched the others sitting just beyond the waters reach.
How we found so much to say there, talking cozily and low
That we did not want to leave it when the others rose to go.

I remember, I remember how you ay were good to me
And you used to give me apples when the others didn't see
But Eugene I didn't like it for I thought to take from you,
Things like this, would set you thinking that I loved you, loved you true
But I didn't. Gene I couldn't so I had to tell you then
That my heart, it was another's. O, I knew 'twould give you pain!

So I'm writing Gene to tell you how I'm sorry as can be
And I want you, when you're thinking, to think kindly, Gene, of me.
I thought you very friendly but I didn't think you more
When I sat with you at evening on the log upon the shore
And I want your friendship still, Gene, if you'll only give it me.
For it hurts to still keep thinking I've brought sorrow unto thee.

When the winds of winter raving
Howl in fury round my door
And I sit there by my window
Watching sky and wave and shore
To my heart there comes a sadness
and my thoughts are full of dread
For it seems to me the wailing
of bereaved ones for the dead
But a thought comes gently creeping
Fills my soul with peace and rest
And I think of Christ who loves us
And I know His love is best.
I no longer hear the wailing
Of the storm without my door
It may rise or it may slacken
I will never fear it more.

What is a girl and why and when?
Tell me O Wiseman if you can
Is she simply a gown and a fluff of hair?
Oh Mister Wiseman! I have you there
Could a fluff of hair and a brand new gown
Look sweet on a hat rack or on a clown
"Female of the Species", maybe so
She's proud to be that, good Sir, I know
She loves her friends, treats foes well too
It's foes of her friends she's deadly to.
But think of eyes of tender blue
From which shine trust and love of you
Then you'll remember, mister man,
To keep her trust as long's you can
But if for reasons the love light dies
And trust lies crushed neath loads of lies
Strange fires will shine in eyes of blue
Whose light will scorch and shrivel you
So I say the eyes that a soul shine through
Show what is the girl. Now what say you?
And why is a girl? I'd say "because"
Was the safest answer there was
It's her own reason and I know
that if you ask she'll tell you so
And when is a girl? May I ask again
At sweet sixteen? At twenty? or ten?
Or is she a girl at thirty then?
I do not know but I say
That some are but girls while they're young and gay
Now, Mister Man, ere I say goodbye
Why are you? Yes, why? O, why?
You cannot say? No more can I.

Towards the land of the setting sun
In his kingdom of beauty and verdure
Sits, enthroned, Minoka, king of the valleys and rivers,
King of the land which which stretches out as
Far as the eye ever reaches.
He sits in his robe of purple and green
Wearing a crown on his forehead,
Wearing a crown of snow which has
Gathered from time immemorial
Aged this king has grown,
Aged with many a battle
Seamed and scarred with the passage
of time yet with a dignified bearing
Holding his head up to the skies
proudly, defiantly, grandly.
When the rays of the setting sun
Touch him tenderly, kindly
His face is lit witha calm, sweet light
As one who is dreaming of angels.

The original handwritten text of 'Minoka'

Showing how she changed name of poem after she'd written it.

Elsie Howe &
Charlie
Whitfield

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