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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.
Walt Whitman
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Tuesday, December 31, 2002 |
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