POEMS BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

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.

When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were empty like a cup; In every hole the sea came up, Till it could come no more.

The rain is raining all around; It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here And on the ships at sea.

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers; The red fire blazes, The gray smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!

I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky, And all around I heard you pass Like ladies' skirts across the grass— O wind, a-blowing all day long O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid; I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!