Leaves of Grass (1871-72)


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An Army Corps on the March.

WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance,
With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a
         whip, and now an irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades
         press on;
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun—the dust-cover'd
         men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the
         ground,
With artillery interspers'd—the wheels rumble, the
         horses sweat,
As the army corps advances.
 
 
 
 
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