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.