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.
