Emma Lazarus

(22 July 1849 – 19 November 1887 / New York City / United States)

Emma Lazarus Poems

1. 1492 1/3/2003
2. A June Night 4/16/2010
3. A Masque Of Venice 4/16/2010
4. Admetus: To My Friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson 4/16/2010
5. Afternoon 4/16/2010
6. Agamemnon’s Tomb 4/16/2010
7. Age And Death 4/16/2010
8. An Epistle 4/16/2010
9. Arabesque 4/16/2010
10. Assurance 1/3/2003
11. August Moon 4/16/2010
12. Autumn Sadness 4/16/2010
13. Bar Kochba 4/16/2010
14. Chopin 1/3/2003
15. City Visions 1/3/2003
16. Critic And Poet: An Epilogue 1/3/2003
17. Destiny 1/3/2003
18. Don Pedrillo 4/16/2010
19. Don Rafael 4/16/2010
20. Dreams 4/16/2010
21. Echoes 1/3/2003
22. Epochs 4/16/2010
23. Exultation 4/16/2010
24. Florence Nightingale 4/16/2010
25. Fog 4/16/2010
26. Fra Pedro 4/16/2010
27. From One Augur To Another 1/3/2003
28. Gifts 4/16/2010
29. Heroes 4/16/2010
30. How Long? 4/16/2010
31. Idyl 4/16/2010
32. In A Swedish Graveyard 4/16/2010
33. In Exile 4/16/2010
34. In Memoriam 4/16/2010
35. In Memoriam—rev. J. J. Lyons 4/16/2010
36. In The Jewish Synagogue At Newport 1/3/2003
37. Influence 1/3/2003
38. Life And Art 1/3/2003
39. Links 4/16/2010
40. Lohengrin 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Emma Lazarus

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 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 ...

Read the full of The New Colossus

Marriage Bells

Music and silver chimes and sunlit air,
Freighted with the scent of honeyed orange-flower;
Glad, friendly festal faces everywhere.
She, rapt from all in this unearthly hour,
With cloudlike, cast-back veil and faint-flushed cheek,
In bridal beauty moves as in a trance
Alone with him, and fears to breathe, to speak,
Lest the rare, subtle spell dissolve perchance.
But he upon that floral head looks down,

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