Robert Louis Stevenson

Where Go the Boats?

Dark brown is the river,

Golden is the sand.

It flows along for ever,

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.