Cavalry Crossing A Ford

Walt Whitman

   A LINE in long array, where they wind betwixt green islands;
   They take a serpentine course--their arms flash in the sun--Hark to
         the musical clank;
   Behold the silvery river--in it the splashing horses, loitering, stop
         to drink;
   Behold the brown-faced men--each group, each person, a picture--the
         negligent rest on the saddles;
   Some emerge on the opposite bank--others are just entering the ford--
         while,
   Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white,
   The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.

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