The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1919/Seven O'Clock

by Maurice Winter Moe

Seven O’Clock

By Maurice Winter Moe

I heave one hugely weighted eyelid—
The other refuses to budge.
Through the pillow come big, vague ticks
Of my Ingersoll.
At the edge of the curtain
Shows a narrow slice of greenish yellow.
I turn my head slowly toward the door—
A tall slit of yellowish blue.
Spokes of black shadow
Swing leisurely across the ceiling
With the door-slit as an axis:
The wire-workers hurrying by.
Crisp, brittle sounds on the icy sidewalk
Plusk-plusk-plusk-plusk ......
Swelling, chaotic, diminishing words,
One nasal female louder than the rest:
“Well, he seen me; why didn’t—”
Others:
“No—I said—If she—all around—”
Plusk-plusk-plusk-plusk ......
Between groups
Silence wedges in:
But into the silence
Pours a low cataract of sound,
Microscopic,
Insistent;
The far-off roar of the dam decreeing forever
That perfect silence
Shall not be in Appleton.
More plusk-plusking
Breaking into a run
As a distant whistle,
Shrilling and needle-like,
Stubs into the silence.
A nearby bassoon now takes up the tune,
And the chorus is swelled
By three or four more.
Shouldering in between blasts
Come the four double-bells:
Clang-clangg! Clang-clangg! Clang-clanggg!
Then a lower note; mellow, deliberate:
Bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bongg!!
Time to get up!