A New Colossus For Our Times
(I rearranged the text of Emma Lazarus's great poem, to reflect the spirit of our new immigration policies.)
Keep the wretched huddled masses that I imprisoned.
Command the brazen teeming homeless to stand tired, poor,
With silent lips yearning to breathe free air,
Not conquering our golden sea-washed shore.
Refuse tempest-tost exiles from ancient lands.
Send the Greek woman to the harbor with a torch
And flame her with a giant beacon lamp.
Your mother cries at her. She glows
Like lightning from her wide-bridged gates.
Frame the world whose cities give me sunset eyes.
Lift your limbs, astride your storied pomp beside the door.
Your land shall welcome my mighty name of fame,
Mild twin of hand, here is your land, of these from me.
Command the brazen teeming homeless to stand tired, poor,
With silent lips yearning to breathe free air,
Not conquering our golden sea-washed shore.
Refuse tempest-tost exiles from ancient lands.
Send the Greek woman to the harbor with a torch
And flame her with a giant beacon lamp.
Your mother cries at her. She glows
Like lightning from her wide-bridged gates.
Frame the world whose cities give me sunset eyes.
Lift your limbs, astride your storied pomp beside the door.
Your land shall welcome my mighty name of fame,
Mild twin of hand, here is your land, of these from me.
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