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 gayly in the wind.