An Army Corps On The March By Walt Whitman

An Army Corps On The March

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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