"YOU WILL NOT SEE THE SORROW OF NO TIME"

You will not see the sorrow of no time.
There will be birds bearing rings, ravens; hands
with an empty hourglass and a sword.
Things half-seen in a familiar room
will rise against you.  These will be dangerous friends.
You will not see the sorrow of no time
or singing burst your melancholy cord.

In days of nightingales, and when our streets
are all nostalgic turnings, and the west
a broken harbour, there will be terror walking.
You will not know the crossing of our hearts,
the final stake that burrows through the breast.
The cruel delicious voices of the birds
will be silent for you.  For you unwaking.

Then all my journeys will be bellman-like, 
a wanderer in your city crying hours.
Call me the raven friend: that cry will come.
There will be nothing in the opened book
but evil spoken.  These are the hollowed years.
Death in the longing way begins to walk.

You will not see the sorrow of time.