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 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 .
"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!"