Here at our sea-washed, sunset gatesshall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the Imprisoned lightning and her name mother of Exiles.
From Her beacon-hand glows worldwide 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 homeless-tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp inside the golden door!"
Emma Lazarus.
Comments