Bruce Shanks (1908-1980)

[inscription reads] " The sunset hour is come. To end of Arbor to sketch pokeweed. / The arbor is full of the sick smell of grapes which is like the taste of grape-juice. Talk of your Arabian roses! I can ask no rarer odor that this. Your artificial nose may demand perfumes brought from across the seas. They mean nothing to me: I have not lived in Arabia! / The air is full of flies and fleas and bugs of all kinds which catching the level rays of the sun on their whirling wings are surrounded by a bright glow. Now they "