A poem by Walt Whitman, from Leaves of Grass


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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