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Dept. of I Am An Immigrant

 photo fb3cd480-2f3f-4212-87a0-472a9271dbf6_zps3tzojemf.png
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!”
Emma Lazarus


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Comments

( 4 comments — Leave a comment )
eaweek
Feb. 8th, 2017 02:53 pm (UTC)
Mother of Exiles. I love it! This poem always makes me a bit teary-eyed.
kaffyr
Feb. 8th, 2017 03:09 pm (UTC)
Yes. I agree. I wish I could etch this in the hearts of everyone trying to blockade the door.
nucleosides
Feb. 11th, 2017 04:14 pm (UTC)

I like this a lot.

kaffyr
Feb. 12th, 2017 04:34 pm (UTC)
It's beautiful, and, since I'm an immigrant, it has a particular meaning.
( 4 comments — Leave a comment )