I'm posting this today as an antidote to the unpleasant piece from yesterday, T.B. Aldrich's "Unguarded Gates"
| 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 | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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!” |
