"The New Colossus"
by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride
from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed,
sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome;
her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor
that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your
storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired,
your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning
to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless,
tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
