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
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!" --Emma Lazarus, July 22, 1849–November 19, 1887, the child of Sephardi Jewish parents who had settled in New York during the Colonial Period, before the revolution.
She is a Daughter of the American Revolution, a proto feminist, a proto Zionist, and above all, a humanist. She gave a voice to the statue, a conscience to New York, and a human dimension to the actual people who sought and gained blessing at her entry