An Army Corps On The March

Walt Whitman

   WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance,
   With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an
         irregular volley,
   The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;
   Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun--the dust-cover'd men,
   In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
   With artillery interspers'd--the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
   As the army corps advances.

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