Keep ancient lands your storied pomp! 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 Exiles. From beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. cries she silent lips. "Give me your tired poor Your huddled masses yearning breathe free wretched refuse teeming shore. Send these homeless tempest-tossed me I lift my lamp beside golden door!"