
The New Colossus
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 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 breath free,
The wretched refuse of
your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless,
tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the
golden door!”
Emma
Lazarus (1849-1887) |