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 our teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" - Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)