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!"
by Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)
The sonnet penned by Emma Lazarus in aid of the Bartholdi Pedestal Fund in 1883. Twenty years later, it was engraved in bronze and mounted inside the Statue of Liberty. Source: Wikipedia.
12 comments:
Neat...=) Yet you have followed up on my post, you have taken your liberties too seriously... x(
I'm at liberty to do as I please X-( Do you have a problem with that?
C'mon now boys ... All this over a woman?
Let's not go into the liberties you've taken shall we?
Oh I never fight for them ... they fight for me ... Subtle difference ...
Nonsense, you're taking way too many liberties.
Rubbish ... they were handed to me on a platter ... and what do you mean "were"?
A likely story. You're on a promiscuous prowl.
Nonsense ... I am being prowled for ... I'm the Prowlee not the Prowler ...
That's the most absurd thing I've heard today.
Is emma hot?
I am not sure ... the monster won't say ...
Post a Comment