Golden leaves in river blue,
Water and sky alike in hue.
Leaves a-dropping from oak trees true,
Now tumbling by, now out of view.
The Water's banks are autumn green,
Below the harvest, wheat and bean.
Though far away the source is seen
It cometh here, still fresh and clean!
The sun sets Westward, pink and red,
Reflected on the river's bed.
Though I lay down my sleepy head
I hear the river gurgle past my stead.
As Winter comes, though lands be brown
And shortened days be drawing down,
Still from the river comes the sound
Of water's rush and graceful bound!
