Liberty's Crown

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-tossed to me, /
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" - Emma Lazarus