Emma Lazarus Poems
|81.||The Guardian Of The Red Disk||4/16/2010|
|82.||The New Colossus||1/3/2003|
|83.||The New Ezekiel||1/3/2003|
|85.||The Supreme Sacrifice||1/3/2003|
|86.||The Taming Of The Falcon||1/3/2003|
|87.||The Valley Of Baca||4/16/2010|
|88.||The World’s Justice||4/16/2010|
|89.||To Carmen Sylva||4/16/2010|
|91.||Venus Of The Louvre||1/3/2003|
|94.||Youth And Death||4/16/2010|
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 ...
Paris, from throats of iron, silver, brass,
Joy-thundering cannon, blent with chiming bells,
And martial strains, the full-voiced pæan swells.
The air is starred with flags, the chanted mass
Throngs all the churches, yet the broad streets swarm
With glad-eyed groups who chatter, laugh, and pass,
In holiday confusion, class with class.