Sergeant Joyce Kilmer:
[reading his own poem at the site where many of the men had been buried alive] Perhaps their brave young spirits hear the bugle sing, go to sleep, go to sleep. Slumber well where the shell screamed and fell. Let your rifles rest on the muddy floor; you will not need them any more. Danger's past now at last, go to sleep. And up to Heaven's doorway floats from the wood called Rouge Bouquet, a delicate cloud of bugle notes that softly say, 'Farewell, farewell, comrades true. Born anew, peace to you. Your souls shall be where the heroes are, and your memory shine like the Morning Star. Brave and dear, shield us here. Farewell.'
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