Cavalry Crossing A Ford
By 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.