Where Go the Boats?

Dark Brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows for ever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castle 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, from
A Child’s Garden of Verses