THE NEW COLOSSUS BY EMMA LAZARUS(1849-1887)

                                  Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, 

                                  With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

                                  Here at our sea-washed, sunset gets 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!"