Emma Lazarus

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

Emma Lazarus Poems

41. Lohengrin: Proem 4/16/2010
42. Long Island Sound 1/3/2003
43. Magnetism 4/16/2010
44. Marjorie’s Wooing 4/16/2010
45. Marriage Bells 1/3/2003
46. Mater Amabilis 4/16/2010
47. Matins 4/16/2010
48. Morning 4/16/2010
49. Niagara 3/27/2012
50. Off Rough Point 4/16/2010
51. On A Tuft Of Grass 4/16/2010
52. On The Proposal To Erect A Monument In England To Lord Byron 4/16/2010
53. Orpheus 4/16/2010
54. Phantasies 4/16/2010
55. Raschi In Prague 4/16/2010
56. Reality 4/16/2010
57. Restlessness 4/16/2010
58. Saint Romualdo 4/16/2010
59. Sic Semper Liberatoribus! 4/16/2010
60. Song 4/16/2010
61. Song From Heine 4/16/2010
62. Sonnet 4/16/2010
63. Spring Longing 4/16/2010
64. Spring Star 4/16/2010
65. St Michael's Chapel 1/3/2003
66. Success 1/3/2003
67. Sunrise 4/16/2010
68. Sympathy 1/3/2003
69. Symphonic Studies (After Schumann) 1/3/2003
70. Tannhauser 4/16/2010
71. The Banner Of The Jew 4/16/2010
72. The Birth Of Man 4/16/2010
73. The Choice 4/16/2010
74. The Cranes Of Ibicus 1/3/2003
75. The Crowing Of The Red Cock 1/3/2003
76. The Day Of Dead Soldiers 4/16/2010
77. The Death Of Raschi 4/16/2010
78. The Elixir 4/16/2010
79. The Feast Of Lights 4/16/2010
80. The Garden Of Adonis 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

City Visions

I

As the blind Milton's memory of light,
The deaf Beethoven's phantasy of tone,
Wroght joys for them surpassing all things known
In our restricted sphere of sound and sight,--
So while the glaring streets of brick and stone
Vix with heat, noise, and dust from morn till night,
I will give rein to Fancy, taking flight

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