The New Colossus

Emma Lazarus

1849 to 1887

Poem Image
Track 1

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Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

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