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Cavalry Crossing a Ford


A LINE in long array, where they wind betwixt green  
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;
The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.
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