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"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. |
"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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Emma Lazarus
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