Cavalry Crossing A Ford By Walt Whitman

Cavalry Crossing A Ford

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–
Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white,
The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.


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