Cavalry Crossing a Ford. by Walt Whitman
A LINE in long array, where they wind betwixt green islands;
They take a serpentine courseâ€”their arms flash in the sunâ€”Hark to the musical
Behold the silvery riverâ€”in it the splashing horses, loitering, stop to drink;
Behold the brown-faced menâ€”each group, each person, a pictureâ€”the negligent rest
Some emerge on the opposite bankâ€”others are just entering the fordâ€”while,
Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white,
The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.