“The New Colossus”

 

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.

 

“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!”

 

I look at historical sources and personal experiences Emma Lazarus drew upon in Chapter 11 of Enlightening the World: The Creation of the Statue of Liberty,” pages 164 to 168.