Poem by Christopher Pearse Cranch

My Old Palette

MANY a year has fled away
    Since this old palette was new, 
As may be seen by the spots of green
    And yellow and red and blue.

Many a picture was painted from this,
    While many were only dreamed; 
And shadow and light like the black and white
    Across my life have streamed.

Accept, my friend, this plain old board
    All plastered and imbrowned, 
Where the pleasure and strife of a painter's life
    Have left a mosaic ground.

The color that went to the picture's soul
    Has left but its body behind; 
Yet strive to trace on its cloudy face
    Some gleam of the artist's mind. 

1. A Night-Picture
2. A Word to Philosophers
3. The Pines and the Sea
4. Sonnet 39. Bayard Taylor
5. Sonnet 16. The Microscope

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