The New Colossus

Emma Lazarus, 1883

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 lightening, 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 fame.

?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 beside the golden door!?

Statue of Liberty

Myra Cohn Livingston

Give me your tired, your poor, she says,

Those yearning to be free.

Take a light from my burning torch,

The light of Liberty.

Give me your huddled masses

Lost on another shore,

Tempest-tossed and weary,

These I take and more.

Give me your thirsty, your hungry

Who come from another place.

You who would dream of freedom

Look into my face.