  Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand; It flows along forever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating— When will all come home? On goes the river, And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill. Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore. —Robert Louis Stevenson. |
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