Weeks, months, years went by,
And lo, Sordello vanished utterly,
Sundered in twain; each spectral part at strife
With each; one jarred against another life;
How, poet no longer in unity with man,
The Poet thwarting hopelessly the Man,
Who, fooled no longer, free in fancy ran
Here, there,—let slip no opportunities
As pitiful, forsooth, beside the prize
To drop on him some no-time and acquit