Who will work a petty alchemy for me?

I have a famished scantling of a dream,

Once divined in silver and in gold,

That latterly cannot withstand

Corrosion by a base and ordinary breathing.

My name, whisper-kept so long ago

By hollow eye and calloused hand

Was written in quicksilver

Upon a sheet of muslin and cannot now be found.

Make me other than I am.

Recompound my elements every whichaway

So the song of my imagining is still heard

And drowns the knell of fearful reason.