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.