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 gayly in the wind.