Treasure Island

Emma Lazarus

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

Quotations

  • ''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.''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus (l. 1-8). . . America in Poetry. Charles Sullivan, ed. (1988) Harry N. Abrams.
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  • ''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.''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus.
  • ''"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.
  • ''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!"''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The New Colossus (l. 10-14). . . America in Poetry. Charles Sullivan, ed. (1988) Harry N. Abrams.
  • ''Still on Israel's head forlorn,
    Every nation heaps its scorn.''
    Emma Lazarus (1849-1887), U.S. poet. The World's Justice.

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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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