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—while,

Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white,

The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.