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

~ by bonniemcclellan on November 9, 2016.

4 Responses to “…”

  1. Well-posted Bonnie, on this morning of despondency.

  2. Thank you for posting this, Bonnie, and without editorializing. There are those of us who still believe in the goodness of our country despite all the anti-american rhetoric spread here and around the world and believed by those who receive their opinions from the press and do not know from experience what they are talking about.

    • Thanks Cynthia, this was the first thing that came to mind on Wednesday morning. America is a beautiful idea, I hope that somehow we’re able to live up to it. The second thing that came to mind was from William Carlos William’s amazing poem Asphodel that Greeny Flower – “It is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there”

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