An Army Corps on the March
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.
Posted on 11/01/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged 19th Century Poetry, American literature, American poets, Daily Whitman, free verse, Leaves of Grass, literature, poems, poetry, Transcendentalists, Walt Whitman. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.