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--
Where 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.