Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THREE O'CLOCK; OCTOBER 17, 1923, by WILSON PUGSLEY MACDONALD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THREE O'CLOCK; OCTOBER 17, 1923, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: My brother met me at a prairie inn
Last Line: "I will take his brave spirit along with me."
Subject(s): Death; Fathers; Dead, The


MY brother met me at a prairie inn
Near lands where rust and hail had broken his life --
And in my room we talked, and he seemed thin
About the eyes; he spoke of his dead wife
And how his baby had grown, and then he said:
"Were you at father's funeral?" and I,
Not having heard that our dear father was dead,
Gave, in my heart's abyss, one soundless cry.
"Have you not heard?" and when I answered, "No,"
My brother waited ere his words would flow --
"He went away over three weeks ago."
The prairie wind outside grew swiftly cold;
The slanting yellow of an October sun,
That but a moment before looked rich with gold,
Became a jaundiced hag, most miserable, old,
And all my days seemed utterly undone.
Long silence followed, unassuaged by tears,
But into this space of time came all my years,
To hold one sad reunion in my breast.
I Knew my brother's thoughts, for they were sown
With my own sudden sorrow and his own.
When I found words I said in a quiet tone:
"A nobleman, our father, is at rest;
The world is cold to greatness; it is best."
And then came memories of my childhood days,
And I once more, with my wood-loving dad,
Went through a grove of Haldimand, ablaze
Lest any leaf's departure should be sad.
My father could tell a tale in a master's way;
And often, by some road, at the close of day
I would rest upon the ground or on a stone
And listen as he spoke of gnomes or fairies.
And now he was gone and from the prairies
I heard the tragic wind's unbroken tone.
(Ah! the prairies are very lonely near November.)
"Brother," I spoke again, "I cannot remember
One word unkind our father ever said
To any of his children: we were not driven, but led."

Still moaned the wind, and 'neath my garment's cloth
The throbbings of my watch were wild and loud --
They beat like hammers of some savage Goth
Or like the feet of a disturbing crowd.
I read the blurring dial: "Ah, I must go,
I read to the students at the school at three."
"Can you not cancel this?" "Ah no, ah no;
My father would have wished that I should go,
I will take his brave spirit along with me."





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