Land of the free, home of the brave ...
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!"
poet Emma Lazarus, re: Statue of