Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 183

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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.