The River

Oh the river that does run, Dancing under azure skies, Catching rainbows in its sun, As it sings and swiftly flies.

With its banks of soft green grass, And the willows bending low, And the crickets in chorus pass, Where the hidden waters flow.

Every ripple tells a tale, As it scampers down the way, ‘Til it slips beneath the veil— Through the wilds of bright array.

• Henry Lawson