John Allan Wyeth (poet)

"Light enough now to watch the trees go by— a sleep like sickness in the rattling train. Men's bodies joggle on the opposite seat and tired greasy faces half awake stir restlessly and breathe a stagnant sigh. The stale air thickens on the grimy pane reeking of musty smoke and woolly feet. Versailles—a bridge of shadow on a lake dawn-blue and pale, the color of the sky. Paris at last!—and a great joy like pain in my heart. We scuffle down the corridor. "Lieutenant." "Sir." "In half an hour we meet at another station—your orders are to take these men by subway to the Gare du Nord.""

"At long last, marking the ninetieth anniversary of the Armistice, an American poet takes his place in the front rank of the War Poet's parade."