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.

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