"The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus 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!”