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 lightening, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Gloves 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-tossed to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus (1886). Written for inscription on the Statue of Liberty.
0 
