Posts filed under ‘Annette Wynne’
The Pilgrims came across the sea,
And never thought of you and me;
And yet it’s very strange the way
We think of them Thanksgiving Day.
We tell their story old and true
Of how they sailed across the blue,
And found a new land to be free
And built their homes quite near the sea.
Every child knows well the tale
Of how they bravely turned the sail,
And journeyed many a day and night,
To worship God as they thought right.
The people think that they were sad,
And grave; I’m sure that they were glad–
They made Thanksgiving Day–that’s fun–
We thank the Pilgrims, every one!
by Annette Wynne
An Italian boy that like to play
In Genoa about the ships all day,
With curly head and dark, dark eyes,
That gazed at earth in child surprise;
And dreamed of distant stranger skies.
He watched the ships that came crowding in
With cargo of riches; he loved the din
Of the glad rush out and the spreading sails
And the echo of far-off windy gales.
He studied the books of the olden day;
He studied but knew far more than they;
He talked to the learned men of the school —
So wise he was they thought him a fool,
A fool with the dark, dark dreamful eyes,
A child he was — grown wonder-wise.
Youth and dreams are over, past
And out, far out he is sailing fast
Toward the seas he dreamed; — strange lands arise —
The world is made rich by his great emprise —
And the wisest know he was more than wise.